


ten meters

by spikettes



Series: measures!verse [1]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikettes/pseuds/spikettes
Summary: The door to Isak Valtersen’s apartment is ten meters to the left from the front door of Even Bech Næsheim’s.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a quick writing exercise meant to be no more than, like, 5k words, so your guess is as good as mine what happened there. A million thanks to my beta [Nina](http://oberynsand.tumblr.com/) for putting up with all my whining (there was a lot). I promise I'll write you a 1D fic soon.
> 
> For anyone who would like to know ahead of time: this fic touches a bit on Even's bipolar disorder, but if you've watched the series then you should be fine- I would say it's less intense than the show.
> 
> Also, if music is your thing, this fic has a soundtrack, which will be in the notes for the last chapter! Tumblr post can be found [here](http://spikettes.tumblr.com/post/174958365971).

“Are you here?”

Isak closes the door to his apartment as he answers his phone, the sound of shrieking girls growing faint behind him when he steps out onto the third floor landing. It’s late, somewhere around eleven, and the building is blissfully quiet compared to the party inside. He breathes in the cold night air as he questions his choice in housemate for at least the hundredth time.

“I’m two blocks away,” Sana replies, her voice tinny but loud through his phone speaker. Isak winces and pulls it away from his face, noticing when he does that there’s a smear of cherry red lipstick on the screen. He shoves his half empty beer bottle into the crook of his elbow and runs a hand down his cheek, sighing when it comes away with a bright smudge on his palm.

“Fucking Noora,” Isak says, using his thumb to try and wipe the front of his phone clean. Noora usually becomes bitter and rant-y when she drinks, but every now and then she turns unexpectedly cuddly. When this happens, Isak typically finds himself victim to being kissed on the cheek and told he is such a _sweet boy_ , which, more than anything, just makes him want to prove his true worth as an asshole.

“What?”

“Just hurry up and get here, Sana, because they’re making me an honorary member in your place,” he says, glaring at where the lipstick stays stubbornly stuck on his phone. He stands there in a tipsy but determined moment of contemplation before, in what seems like a great epiphany, he sets his beer down and pulls his shirt off by the back of the neck. The sparkling plastic tiara that had been perched on his head flies to the ground with a clatter, and he scrambles to pick it up and shove it back into his hair.

“Sana, you there?” There’s no answer.

He unlocks his phone, realizing that he hung up on her, and that he might be much more drunk than he originally thought. Shrugging, he picks his beer back up and takes a swig as he wanders over to the rail that goes around the landing, hoisting himself up and letting his feet dangle a few inches above the ground. This isn’t the first time he’s hung up on Sana, and it probably won’t be the last.

He waits for a few minutes, absentmindedly swinging his legs against the metal bars, before he remembers why he hung up with Sana in the first place. Shoving his beer between his thighs, he scrubs at the front of his phone with his shirt, groaning when he pulls it away and the lipstick is still there.

“What the fuck does she use, paint?” he whispers, eyeing his mostly empty beer. He slides it out from between his thighs, feeling confident as he tips it sideways and lets the last of the liquid spill out and onto his phone. The lipstick comes off this time, and he barks out a single laugh in triumph.

“Did you just pour beer on your phone?”

Isak yelps, dropping the bottle and clutching at the railing with both hands to keep from falling backwards. When he looks up, he sees Even Bech Næsheim standing in front of his apartment door, holding a trash bag and watching him with a baffled expression.

It’s been six months since Even first moved into the apartment beside Isak’s (six months, one week, and two days- not that Isak is counting), loping up the stairs with a disarming smile and mysteriously charming box labelled “do not open.” It has also, coincidentally, been six months, one week, and two days since Isak has been able to walk outside of his own apartment and not make a complete fool out of himself. Around the third month in, Isak decided the best option for him was to simply avoid Even at all costs. He’s pretty sure all it did was make him seem like a jerk on top of everything, but at least he can still pass by Even’s door every morning without feeling like he should be wearing a paper bag over his head.

Or, at least, he _could_ , before Even caught him sitting drunk and shirtless outside his apartment, with lipstick smeared down his cheek and wearing a fucking _tiara_ , of all things.

Isak clears his throat, narrowing his eyes down at his phone.

“There was a stain,” he announces, feeling judged.

“On your shirt?”

“On my _phone,”_ Isak rolls his eyes and has to catch the railing again as he sways backwards. He wishes, somewhat hysterically, that Even would stop staring at him and just pick him up and throw him out with the rest of his garbage.

“How much have you had to drink?” Even asks, eyeing the empty bottle on the ground.

“Not a lot,” Isak replies, swaying backwards again and contradicting himself spectacularly. Even drops his trash and takes three quick strides over to him.

“I think this rail is maybe not a good idea,” he says, grasping Isak by his bicep and easing him down to the ground. Isak blinks at where Even’s fingers are strong against his arm, and when he looks back up Even is smiling at the tiara nestled in his hair.

“I like your outfit tonight.” There’s laughter in his voice, and Isak is suddenly very aware that he still isn’t wearing a shirt.

“It's- I’m- bachelorette party,” Isak swears internally, his face growing hot. “My, uh- my friend is- I didn't know they'd be here.”

“I thought those were usually for just the girls?” Even asks, still smiling bemusedly at Isak’s tiara.

“Well, it is mostly- I didn’t want to-” Isak trips and stumbles back, catching the rail again and pretending that leaning against it had been his plan all along. “They just sort of dragged me out of my room,” he admits.

Even smiles and takes a step back to lean against the railing next to him, folding his arms and glancing at the pavement three floors below.

“Who’s getting married?”

“My roommate, Eva, and her girlfriend. Vilde? You’ve probably seen her around since she never fucking leaves,” Isak sighs and has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “Small, blonde, shrill?”

“Yeah, I think I have,” Even nods slowly, his expression pensive.

“What?”

Even laughs, puffing up the back of his hair as he looks down at the ground.

“I actually thought you were dating Eva.”

_“Me?”_

He shrugs, smiling.

“No I-” Isak clears his throat, suddenly finding the toe of his shoe very interesting. “I’m not really, uh,” he sniffs and rubs at his nose.

Even glances back up at his tiara, this time with a calculating quirk to his eyebrows. “I’m not really, either,” he replies lightly.

Isak looks up at him in surprise, his hand slipping against the railing. Even stares back calmly, and Isak is suddenly very concerned that he’s misunderstood him completely.

“I’m gay,” he blurts. “That’s what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

Isak narrows his eyes at him.

“Don’t you want to put your shirt back on?” Even asks, raising his eyebrows down at the wadded up fabric in Isak’s hand. It’s dotted in small, faint pink spots, and smells strongly of beer. Isak cringes.

“I guess I probably should.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to,” Even says. “I get loose when I drink, too.”

“Oh,” Isak replies in a small voice. He doesn’t really know how to explain to Even that it isn’t that he likes stripping when he’s drunk, but actually just that he turns into a fucking idiot.

“There was this one time at a party, when me and some friends had passed out in bed together-”

“Some party,” Isak says. Even smiles patiently.

“Well, I ended up blowing this guy, while the girls behind me were-”

 _“What?”_ Isak asks, gaping up at him. “You were in an _orgy?”_

“Is that what it’s called?”

“I mean if you-” Isak stops as Even brings a hand up to cover his mouth, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

Even lowers his hand and laughs outright. He laughs with his whole body, clutching the rail for support, and Isak feels himself smile back helplessly.

“You really believed that for a second, didn’t you?”

“I was humoring you.” Isak rolls his eyes, but thinks the effect is probably ruined by the fact that he’s still smiling.

“Of course you were,” Even replies, his attention caught by something over his shoulder. Isak bends forward to look around him and sees Sana making her way across the landing, her black clothes billowing out around her.

“Hi,” Even calls, raising his hand in a halfhearted wave. “Is this yours?”

“Unfortunately,” Sana sighs. “They really did a number on you, didn’t they, Isak?”

“It was mostly self-inflicted,” he says, straightening out his tiara.

“Where the hell is your shirt?”

“Right here.” He unfurls the reeking, pink mottled fabric with pride.

“Ugh,” Sana crinkles her nose in disgust. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

She turns toward Even, who is still standing there, looking like he’d be content watching them banter for the rest of the night.

“Sana,” she says, extending her hand for him to shake. “Thanks for watching him.”

“Even,” he replies, feigning solemnity as he shakes her hand with a little bow of his head. “And anytime.” He pushes off from the rail and starts wandering back towards his apartment, his hands in his pockets.

“Come on, princess,” Sana sighs as she grabs Isak by his arm and drags him towards his own apartment, rolling her eyes when he yelps and stumbles over his own feet. He glances back and sees that Even is still watching, smiling as he leans against his doorframe.

“Have fun!” he yells towards them.

As they reach his front door, Isak grabs for the edge like a drowning man, craning his head around the corner and mouthing _save me_ back at Even.

Even is laughing when Isak closes the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Isak can’t tell what hurts more: his pounding headache, or his intense feeling of shame. He vaguely remembers something about a tiara, stripping off his shirt, and doing embarrassing things in front of Even Bech Næsheim.

“No,” he says to himself, rolling over and falling off the couch and onto the floor. “Fuck no,” he corrects.

 _“Hell_ fucking no,” Eva replies, curled in their armchair and still wearing her pink sash and crown. She has one stiletto on, and her hair is sticking straight up from the side of her head.

“On a scale from one to ten, how dead are you?” Isak asks, burying his face in the carpet and giving up entirely on moving, ever.

“Ten. Eleven. Two thousand.”

“Lightweights,” says a voice from behind Isak. He curls into himself to see Chris sitting cross legged on their floor, eating breakfast and watching cartoons.

“Fuck off,” he replies, covering his face with his arm.

“Excuse you, I drank that whole bottle of champagne by _myself,”_ Eva protests, sitting up and wincing.

“Your funeral,” Chris replies, taking a joyous bite of toast.

“Where’d you get food from?” Eva eyes her pancakes enviously, and Chris jerks her head in the direction of their kitchen.

“Noora.”

“You’re out of eggs!” Noora yells on cue from the other room. Isak and Eva cringe in unison.

“No loud noises,” Eva mumbles, sliding out of her chair and slumping towards the kitchen.

“Is Sana still here?” Isak asks Chris, dragging his arm away from his face and slowly working his way into a sitting position.

Chris shakes her head. “She left early for the mosque,” she says around a mouthful of pancake. “Why?”

“I have a question for her.” There’s a fuzzy memory replaying in his head, something that seems to involve Even and blowjobs.

“Is this about your chaperone?” Chris smiles, and Isak is immediately filled with distrust.

“No.”

“She told me you were doing a strip tease for him when she showed up,” Chris says, raising her eyebrows.

_“What?”_

“Nah, not really,” she laughs, stabbing a chunk of pancake. “She just said he seemed nice.”

“Are we talking about Isak’s babysitter?” Eva wanders back into the room with a plate of pancakes stacked five high, smothered in syrup.

“Does _everyone_ know about this?” Isak groans, collapsing back onto the floor.

“Not me.” Noora follows Eva in with a slightly more modest plate that has only one pancake and a pile of fruit. She takes the seat across from her at their tiny kitchen table, shaking her head in disbelief at Eva’s food. “Who are we talking about?”

“Our neighbor, Even,” Eva snorts. “Isak is obsessed with him.”

“I’m not!”

“And he’s a bad liar.” She throws one of Noora’s grapes at his head. Isak glares at her.

“I just want to know,” he says, closing his eyes in annoyance, “if I acted like a complete asshole.”

“Probably,” Eva says, her mouth full of food.

“Not from _you.”_

“Probably,” Chris replies, smirking at him. Isak groans and rolls over until his face is once again buried in the safety of the carpet.

“Sorry, Isak, we speak only the truth,” Eva teases. From somewhere in the armchair she had been sleeping in a phone buzzes, muffled under the cushions. She drops her fork with a clang and scrambles to find it, throwing all the pillows across the room in the process.

“It’s Vilde,” she announces, surprising no one. When she answers, Isak can just barely make out Vilde’s high-pitched, slightly anxious voice through the receiver.

“Are you sure that’s today?” Eva asks, sounding confused as she wanders away towards her room. “I thought it was next week...”

Isak can hear her struggle to extricate herself from her _Bride!_ sash, swearing quietly before there’s a thumping noise and a dull _ow_. He snorts into the carpet, glad that he isn’t the only one in pain.

“Don’t worry about your neighbor,” Noora says, and when Isak looks up she’s watching Eva with a wry expression. “If _those two_ can manage a relationship, you’ll be fine.”

“I never said anything about a relationship,” Isak grumbles into the carpet.

Noora and Chris both laugh in response just as Eva comes running back into the living room, devoid of her sash and trying to fit her arm into her coat. She has her phone between her teeth, the hand that’s already through her coat sleeve occupied with shoes and a purse.

She shouts what sounds to Isak like “I’m in so much trouble!” then without a glance back she flees out the front door, leaving it wide open behind her.

“That girl is a mess,” Chris says, laughing and crawling forward to watch her sprint down the landing.

Isak sighs and goes to close the door, stepping over Chris and slowing when he notices something small and white sitting on the doorstep. He bends down to pick it up, seeing the label and realizing it’s a bottle of painkillers, with the plastic seal still around the cap and a note taped to the top. He delicately peels it off, careful not to rip the paper, and scans the clumsy handwriting that reads: _for any unwanted hangovers_. Next to the writing, there’s a small cartoon drawing of Isak pouting with an icepack on his head, holding a tiny tiara in his hand.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t until a week later that Isak sees Even again, and this time finds himself extremely sober and knocking on Even’s front door with an armful of laundry.

“Even, are you there?” Isak hoists the laundry basket up higher on his hip, and knocks a second time. “I have your clothes.”

From inside the apartment there’s a brief chorus of slams and bangs, followed by the muted but distinct sound of Even swearing.

“You’re stealing my clothes?” Even asks as he opens his front door. His shirt is on inside out and he’s gingerly sucking on the side of his hand. Isak watches his lips and forgets about the laundry entirely.

“Are you okay?” he asks, narrowing his eyes as Even takes his hand out of his mouth, glances at it, then immediately returns it.

“Burned myself cooking,” he replies around his finger. Isak glances down and sees that Even’s fly is open, and one of his pocket linings is happily puffing up out of his jeans. Isak blinks and averts his gaze.

“Do you... cook naked?”

“Maybe.” Even smiles around his hand.

“Are you some kind of nudist or something?” Isak reminds himself that it’s very dangerous and very stupid to cook without any clothes on, and that it is not remotely endearing or charming or sexy.

“Freedom is a wonderful thing, Isak,” Even replies. Isak stares at him, unable to tell whether or not he’s joking. Even clears his throat.

“So, you’re stealing my laundry?” he prompts, giving up on his hand to calmly zip his fly. “Are my clothes so ugly you decided to destroy them?”

“No,” Isak licks his lips, looking down at the laundry basket he’d forgotten he’s holding. It’s cutting painfully into the top of his hip, which he hadn’t noticed a moment ago. He drops it to the ground next to him and massages his side, wincing. “That woman from 308 was threatening to throw them away because they’d been sitting in the washer too long.”

Even looks down at the basket between and them and furrows his eyebrows. “Been in there too long? I only put them in-” he pauses and counts on his good hand, whispering dates to himself. “Three days ago?” he winces, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s okay, just, uh-” Isak clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets, “just don’t let her catch you again, because I think she might actually do it.”

“Did you dry these for me?” Even asks, crouching down next to the basket and rifling through his clothes, picking them up one by one for inspection.

“Well, yeah,” Isak sniffs, shifting his weight, “the, uh, the smell was kind of bad so I just thought-”

“Let me pay you back,” Even rises and almost trips on the basket as he hurries back into his apartment.

“No, Even, it’s fine-” Isak calls out, lingering in the doorway. Even returns a moment later with his wallet in his hand and a look of utter despair on his face.

“I don’t have any cash right now, but-”

“It’s really fine,” Isak interrupts, grabbing Even’s wrist and pushing it back towards his chest. Even holds the wallet against his heart, looking at Isak with a woeful expression that makes Isak’s jaw clench. “You can pay me back some other way-” he pauses and closes his eyes, regretting the phrasing immediately. _Don’t say sexual favors_ , he thinks. _Don’t say sexual favors._ “Food! I like food. Do you want to cook for me, sometime?”

Only too late, he realizes that cooking for each other is what people usually do on dates. Even smiles and tilts his head to the side, watching Isak scramble for words.

“Because- I’m awful at cooking.” Isak cringes, unable to stop from digging himself in deeper. “I’m really, really fucking bad.”

Even smiles wider, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Isak clears his throat.

“And, uh- Vilde always says I don’t eat right, so. That’d be… something…”

“I’m guessing you’d like me to wear the clothes you washed for me,” Even replies, raising his eyebrows, “instead of what I usually wear when I cook?”

Isak feels his whole body burst into flames, and wishes for nothing more than the ground to swallow him whole.

“Clothes are- yeah,” Isak coughs and studies where the paint is peeling on Even’s front door, pretending it’s something extremely fascinating. “I don’t want to die of food poisoning.”

Even laughs like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard, and Isak’s traitorous heart swells in pride.

“How did you know these were mine, anyway?” Even kicks the side of the laundry basket, still sitting between them in his doorway.

“Oh, the, uh- the pan shirt?” Isak supplies. Even blinks at him, confused. “It’s got the- there’s a picture of a cooking pan, and it says ‘sexual’ underneath?”

“Oh,” Even blinks, surprised. “I didn’t think you remembered.”

Isak nods, his gaze returning back to the patch of peeling paint. “I remember,” he says. He can feel Even watching him, but refuses to look away from the door. The color underneath the chipped paint is a light, sky blue color, and Isak thinks it’s much better than the off-white that covers it.

“Do you like mushrooms?” Even asks into the silence.

“I’ve only smoked weed,” Isak replies, tearing his gaze away from the door.

“To _eat_ , Isak.”

“Oh, right. Uh- yeah. Yes.”

Isak reaches up to adjust his snapback, but fumbles and knocks it off backwards off his head. Even bends down to pick it up, and Isak is careful not to let their skin touch when he takes it back.

“Why don’t you come over this Friday night?” Even suggests, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’ll wear clothes and cook dinner.”

“Yeah, okay,” Isak replies, already backing out of the doorway. “My, uh- my classes end early that day, so…” His response fades away as he turns and flees back to his own apartment, almost tripping over his own feet in confusion.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t a date. It isn’t a date because Even is just repaying a favor- he was asked under extenuating circumstances, he’s practically meeting Isak _against his will_. He’s probably resenting Isak at that very moment, praying for the night to be brief so he can move on to more important things. He’s probably regretting ever offering to pay Isak back at all. He’s probably thinking about how sad it is that Isak doesn’t know how to cook basic meals for himself, can’t hold his liquor, and can’t mind his own damn business. Isak sighs and throws another shirt into his quickly growing pile of rejects. So far black, navy, orange, and The Simpsons are all not his color.

“Do you need help?” asks a voice from behind him. He spins on the spot, mortified, to see Vilde beaming in his doorway.

“I-” he pauses, and glances back down at his jumble of shirts “...think I do, yeah.”

“You need to look good, but not _too_ good,” she says, shoving past him as she makes a beeline for his closet. “Like you didn’t try, you know?”

“I get the concept,” Isak sighs, squinting in embarrassment at his closet door. Vilde opens it as wide as it can go and starts throwing clothes across his room- all of them, apparently, deemed unacceptable.

“Why do all your shirts have weird stuff on them?” she asks, scrunching her nose as she pulls out a bright red shirt with the Fifa logo printed on the front. Isak assumes the question is rhetorical and collapses onto his bed in a heap of exhaustion.

“Don’t pick anything stupid,” he says into his sheets. Vilde scoffs and throws a pair of jeans at his head.

“I’m a _professional_ , Isak, I know what I’m doing.”

“Not really,” he replies, flinging the jeans off his head and onto the floor. “You’re just an assistant.”

“Do you want my help, or not?”

Isak remains quiet, resigning himself to the noise of Vilde loudly objecting to most of his clothes.

“Okay,” she announces grandly after a few minutes, “this one isn’t too bad.”

Isak sits up and sees her holding out a neutrally toned plaid shirt, smiling triumphantly.

“I forgot about that shirt,” he says, trying not to sound impressed as he slides off his bed to take it from her.

“You’re welcome,” she replies as he puts it on in front of his mirror. When he goes to grab a snapback from where they hang on his wall, she slaps his hand away sharply. “No hat. You’re better off without them.”

Isak rolls his eyes at her through the reflection in his mirror.

“And don't talk to him with your mouth full of food,” she says, sitting on the edge of his bed. “You always do that and it's really gross.”

“Thanks,” he replies tonelessly. “Don’t you have a fiancée to annoy now?”

“Eva’s at work.”

Isak pauses in fixing his hair, turning to look at her sprawling out across his bed, happily poking through the contents of his nightstand.

“Then _why are you here?”_

Vilde shrugs, kicking her legs back and forth through the air. “I was bored,” she says, trying to lift a book from the stack on his nightstand and knocking everything onto the ground. “Oops!”

Isak groans and rolls his head back in exasperation.

“Just don’t burn the apartment down,” he says as he turns to leave, hearing the worrying noises of Vilde rifling through his desk as he starts down the hall. “And don’t look in the bottom drawer!” he shouts back as an afterthought, knowing that she probably will anyway.

 

* * *

 

Even’s apartment is not what he expects. He isn’t sure what it _was_ that he expected, exactly, but it wasn’t artwork on the walls, shelves of cameras, or a guitar in the corner. Every detail screams _artist_ to him, and he’s simultaneously impressed and intimidated.

He gravitates toward the cameras Even has lined up in neat little rows on his wall, and examines each of them in turn. They’re all different from one another, some for film and some for photography, and each with its own personality- a tiny modern one next to an antique, a sleek powerful one neighboring a polaroid.

“Do you collect these?” Isak asks, his hand ghosting over one with so many buttons he doubts they all serve a real purpose. Then again, the extent of his knowledge is “ugly yellow filter” and “crop out the sadness.”

“Yeah,” Even replies, wandering idly behind him with his hands in his pockets. Isak had been surprised by his clothes, too- he’d expected the same things Even usually wears, maybe even a cameo of the pan shirt, but Even is wearing a neat button down and nice jeans, and Isak isn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

He’s also wearing socks adorned with tiny pugs, which could’ve ruined the effect for anyone else- but on Even it’s somehow just more charming.

“Some of those were gifts,” Even continues, coming to stand next to Isak, “that one was from my last boss.” He points to an expensive looking camera, simple and modern. Isak blinks at it, feeling overwhelmed.

“You make movies?”

“No,” Even smiles at him ruefully, “I’m a Runner.”

“Like… track?”

“Do _I_ look like an athlete to you?” Even asks, gesturing to himself in disbelief. “A Floor Runner, for films- it’s a glorified coffee boy, basically.”

Isak narrows his eyes. “But you _do_ run?”

Even laughs. “I guess so, yeah. Maybe they should make it an Olympic sport.”

“You could do hurdles with hot cups of coffee.”

“I would still lose,” Even shakes his head, still smiling. “I spill coffee on myself almost every day.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Isak sighs. He looks over at a camera that’s level with his eyeline- there’s a brown leather arm strap clipped to it, like it’s been used recently.

“But you _want_ to make movies?”

“Maybe,” Even replies sucking on his bottom lip. “I’m not too sure, yet.”

“Seems like you are,” Isak mutters. He hadn’t intended for Even to hear, but he does a double take towards Isak, looking both startled and amused. He doesn’t look away, so Isak turns back towards the cameras, picking up the least foreign one he can find and focusing on it.

“Food?” Even says into the silence. Isak nods, accidentally popping open the flash and scrambling to fit it back in place.

“Don’t worry,” Even calls back to him as he makes his way into the kitchen, “it’s supposed to do that.”

Isak scowls as the flash folds back down with a smug click.

“You said you have classes, right?” Even asks, looking up at Isak over the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. “What are you studying?”

“Nursing,” Isak replies, lifting one of Even’s more exotic cameras with a careful hand. It’s heavier than he thought it would be, and he’s terrified he’s going to somehow break it. “That’s how I know Sana, actually- the girl you met the other night?”

Even nods, a cloud of steam coming up around his face.

“She’s in school with me- different program, though. She’s studying to be a surgeon, she’s much more ambitious,” he says, laughing. When he looks back into the kitchen, Even is watching him knowingly.

“I think nursing is plenty ambitious,” he replies. Isak shrugs and looks back down at the camera, fiddling with a button on the side. “You’ve got to be really good at talking with people to be a nurse.”

“I’m honestly not.” Isak tries to smile, but it becomes more of a wince.

“I think you are,” Even counters. “Why’d you pick nursing, then?”

Isak hesitates, licking his lips. It isn’t a story he tells many people, and when he does, it’s usually a heavily edited version of the truth. Yet, there’s something about being in Even’s apartment, with Even’s personality displayed so openly, that makes Isak feel both exposed and protected. He stands in silence for what feels like an eternity, turning the camera over and over in his hands, along with the realization he’s never readily explained this part of himself before. Even clears his throat.

“When I was five, I watched _Mary Poppins_ for the first time.”

“What?” Isak looks up at him, almost dropping the camera.

“It’s the first film I really loved,” Even says, smiling at something he’s stirring on the stove. _“Mary Poppins.”_

“Not _Some Like It Hot?”_ Isak teases, nodding to the black and white poster framed on the opposite wall.

“That was later,” Even replies, mouth twitching, “when I was six.”

“Oh, of course,” Isak responds, rolling his eyes. “Every six year old’s favorite.”

Even laughs loudly, and Isak watches as he moves through the kitchen. There’s no hint of curiosity about his lack of answer, no note of judgement in his tone, and Isak doesn’t know if he’s more grateful or dismayed for it.

“Should I be helping?”

Even hums questioningly in response, spinning from the stove to the sink to the cabinets, looking perfectly at ease. Isak swallows and tells himself it’s only enthralling to watch because he’s always the complete opposite in his own kitchen- swearing, sweating, and on one disastrous attempt that he’d rather forget, crying.

Isak jerks his head towards the stove, where a steaming pot is waiting. The entire apartment smells like pasta, and a wave of guilt follows his hunger.

“It’s mostly done,” Even says, turning his back to Isak as he pours out noodles into a colander. “But thanks for offering at the last possible second.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Isak beams at him.

“I know your game,” Even replies, narrowing his eyes at Isak from over his shoulder. He turns back around but waves his hand toward Isak as he does so, motioning for him to sit at the table. Isak pulls out a chair, feeling like an obedient child, and watches Even as he works. His shoulder blades are visible through the back of his shirt when it’s pulled tight, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal his forearms. When Even turns around, Isak sniffs and looks down at the table.

“Don’t worry,” Even says as he slides one of the plates across the table towards Isak. “The mushrooms aren’t hallucinogenic.”

“What’s the _point,_ then?” Isak replies, pretending to be offended. He takes a bite, and is a little angry that it’s much better than anything he’s ever attempted to make. Even tilts his head happily, his lips pink from the heat of the food, and Isak is even more furious.

“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time offer,” Even says, concentrating on twirling pasta around his fork. “Any time you need a real dinner, just come over.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I don’t want any angry girls knocking on my door telling me you’re dying of malnutrition,” Even insists, raising his eyebrows at him from across the table.

“I shouldn’t have told you that.” Isak stabs at his pasta. “I’m not _that_ bad, I eat fine-”

“I think you’re lying to me,” Even laughs. “The first thing that’s said is always the one that’s true.”

“In that case, I’m a rich entrepreneur with two mansions and a private jet.” Isak pauses and looks around the room, like he’ll suddenly find himself sitting in his own grand foyer. “Did it work?”

“Check your bank account.”

Isak unlocks his phone and pretends to log in, swiping through his apps. “Still broke,” he sighs. “I guess you’re wrong.”

“Well, then, that means you won’t need this after all,” Even shrugs, grabbing the edge of Isak’s plate and pulling it away from him.

“Hey!”

Even looks up, mouth quirking.

“Fine, you’re right. Can I have my food back?”

“Only because you admitted I’m right,” Even says, pushing the plate back towards Isak. Isak grabs a forkful of pasta and shoves it into his mouth before Even can take the plate away again.

“Look at that sad, starving boy,” Even mutters, shaking his head while he watches Isak eat.

Isak winks, a clump of noodles hanging out of his mouth and onto his chin.

“And sexy, too,” Even says, laughing. Isak chokes, feeling his face turn a humiliating shade of red and thinking that if Vilde could see him, she would be so disappointed.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Eva!”

They’re both leaning out of the window in Eva’s bedroom, watching her walk away three floors below them. Eva slows and turns to look behind her, then, confused, turns and looks to her right.

“Eva!”

She puts a hand over her eyes and squints upwards, finally spotting them looking down at her.

“What’s your Netflix password?” Isak calls down.

He’d been spending his afternoon studying when Even had knocked on their door, bouncing on the balls of his feet and rambling on about a film he had worked on that was just been released. Isak, in a fit of nerves, typed his password in wrong so many times that he locked himself out of his own account.

“Use your own account, freeloader!” Eva shouts back, pulling her beanie down low over her ears.

“I forgot my password!” he lies. Even bites his lip, looking amused, and Isak pointedly ignores him.

Eva glares up at them in silence.

“Please? I’ll do the dishes!”

“For a month!”

_“A month?”_

“That’s my offer!”

“She drives a hard bargain,” Even says, watching him. “You really want to subject yourself to a month’s worth of dishes for a bad movie?”

Isak takes only the briefest moment to look back in consideration.

“Deal!” he yells down.

Eva sighs and says something that neither of them catch.

“What?”

“My password is _evavillevilde1,”_ she shouts, scowling.

“That’s embarrassing,” Isak murmurs to Even, who has to turn his head so Eva can’t see him laughing.

“Vilde made the account, okay?” Eva yells, shoving her hands in the pockets of her coat.

“Like fuck she di-”

“Have fun at work, Eva!” Even shouts over him, waving down at her.

“You two are a nightmare,” she calls in farewell, flipping them off as she turns to leave.

They watch her walk away for a moment, her hands returning into her pockets and her purse swinging haphazardly from her shoulder, before they retreat back into her room.

“How long have they been dating, anyway?” Even asks him, bending down to look at a picture of Eva and Vilde thumbtacked to her wall. Isak knows it well because he’d been the one to take it, not long after they had gotten engaged. Vilde had smiled sweetly for the camera, angling her face into the light, and Eva had laughed at her and licked up the side of her cheek.

“I think about three years,” Isak says, wandering back out into the hall. Even follows him slowly, still examining the pictures Eva has pinned up as a makeshift collage.

“Do you know how they met?”

“Yeah,” Isak smiles, turning back to face him. “I was there.”

Even raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“We were at a bar- the bar Eva works at- and it was Vilde’s first Pride. Actually, it was my first Pride, too,” he adds, scratching the back of his neck. Even’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “Vilde was crying in the bathroom because she lost Chris- have you met Chris?”

Even shakes his head no, his eyes shining like a kid listening to a fairy tale.

“Well, they got separated, and I think Vilde might have been a little terrified of the whole thing, so she was a mess. Eva found her and we all hung out with her until Chris showed up again.”

“Have you been to Pride since?”

“Yeah,” Isak shrugs, turning back around and leading Even into the living room.

“We should go together one year,” Even says.

“Sure,” Isak replies, glad that Even can’t see his face.

 

* * *

 

It’s late on a Friday night, and Isak is studying. All of his friends, as it turns out, are becoming just as boring as he is, each and every one of them either working, studying, or, as Eva and Vilde call it, “having a night in.” He’d be a little more disappointed in them all if it didn’t mean also being disappointed in himself.

Sighing and closing his eyes, he lays his cheek down onto his open textbook. He’s been reading the same paragraph for the last fifteen minutes, simultaneously bored and distracted by the faint, muffled music he can hear coming from Even’s apartment. At one point, in desperation, he had tried to hold his phone up to the wall to get Siri to find out what song was playing, but all his phone did was yell at him in a dulcet automated voice.

Just as Isak groans and begins to unpeel his face from where it’s sticking to the paper, there’s a soft clicking noise, and he’s engulfed in complete darkness. He blinks and swivels in his chair, squinting around his room until his eyes adjust to the light. From Eva’s bedroom, he can hear Vilde scream shrilly, a thump, and someone swear.

“The whole street went out!” Eva shouts. Isak closes his textbook, realizing with relief that studying is no longer possible. Cautiously, he picks his way through the mess on his floor and towards the hallway.

“Are you guys okay?” he calls once he reaches his door, leaning against the frame to get a better view of Eva’s room. A moment later they both come out with lit candles in each of their hands, and a flashlight stuffed into the pocket of Eva’s sweatpants.

“Good thing Vilde bought like twenty of these,” Eva says, sliding on socked feet into the living room as she tries not to put out the flames.

“The apartment will smell really pretty now, at least!” Vilde says, placing a candle on their kitchen table, tilting her head at it in consideration, and then picking it back up and moving it to the bar instead.

“Do you think we need more?”

“Yes,” Isak replies from where he’s been stranded behind them in absolute darkness. He feels his way into Eva’s room and trips over the pile of candles they have heaped in the middle of the floor. “Couldn’t you have put these somewhere where we won’t fall on them and die?” he calls out to them, grabbing an armful at random.

He takes the lighter from Eva’s bedside table and lights a few, carrying them back into the hallway and placing them against the wall where he hopes no one will stand and set themselves on fire.

When he heads into the living room, Vilde and Eva have huddled together on the couch, a throw blanket draped over their knees and Eva’s laptop balanced between them.

“Come on, Isak,” Vilde says to him, patting the spot next to her. “We’re going to have a movie night.”

Isak narrows his eyes at them cozied up together and already feels like a third wheel.

“Definitely not,” he says, turning on his heel and heading back towards his room.

“You can’t opt out of movie night, Isak, it’s against the rules,” Eva shouts at his retreating back. Isak squints into his pitch black room and tastes defeat.

“I’m only agreeing,” he announces, flopping down onto the cushion next to Vilde, “because all the fucking candles are out here.”

“Good enough for me,” Eva says, squinting at the light from her laptop as she clicks through her files.

He tunes them out as they start arguing over what movie to watch, Vilde vetoing anything even a little scary or suspenseful, and Eva muttering something about blackouts and wasted opportunities. Isak and slouches down into the couch, turning his head to look at the wall that separates them from Even. He wonders if Even has armfuls of discount scented candles like they do, or at the very least a flashlight. He supposes there’s always the light from his cell phone, but if the battery ever ran out Even would have no way of calling someone if there was an emergency. Suddenly, he’s struck with a scrolling horror show of mental images where Even is in gruesome, Final Destination-esque accidents with no one around to help him.

“Do you think Even’s okay?” he asks, mostly to himself, craning his head like if he leans back far enough he'll be able to see through the wall and into Even’s apartment. “What if he doesn't have any candles or anything? Should I go offer him some?”

“Offer him some _candles?”_ Eva asks incredulously, raising her eyebrows at him over Vilde’s head.

“What else would I-” Isak freezes, narrowing his eyes at her. Eva smirks and shrugs.

“Just saying,” she says, sliding back down into the couch and returning to clicking through her files of romantic comedies.

“Give him this one!” Vilde supplies, oblivious as she passes Isak a soft yellow candle. “It smells like sunshine!”

“It smells like _sunshine?”_

Vilde nods, beaming as she shoves it into his hands. Isak groans and rolls his eyes, peeling himself off the couch and restraining from flat out running through the front door.

“Sunlight is electromagnetic radiation,” he says to himself as he walks down the hall, sniffing the candle and cringing. “It doesn’t _smell_ like anything.” He knocks on Even’s door, so distracted by the offensive scent of lemons that he doesn’t notice when it opens.

“Boo,” Even says, expressionless as he holds a lit flashlight under his chin.

“Very scary,” Isak glares at him, annoyed that even in the least flattering light in the world, he still manages to look attractive. “I just uh-” he falters, realizing how stupid _wanted to check on you_ sounds out loud. “Do you want this candle?” he asks, feeling like an absolute fucking fool as he shoves the glass towards Even.

“Sunshine,” Even reads, squinting at the label. “Smells like lemons.”

“I know,” Isak sighs, resisting the urge to rant about scientific inaccuracies in the scented candle industry. “Do you want to come over?” He blinks as Even shines the flashlight curiously into his eyes. “I’m trapped as a third wheel and could really use someone to spare me from my misery.”

“What are we doing?” Even asks, his flashlight wandering over Isak’s face.

“Movie night.” Isak feels somewhat confident that movie night is something Even Bech Næsheim would never turn down.

“Sounds awful,” Even says, smiling and turning to put the candle down and close his front door behind him. “I’m definitely going to have to save you.”

“Thanks,” Isak sighs, horrified to hear that his voice sounds genuinely relieved. He leads the way back to his own apartment, not looking behind him in case Even heard it, too.

The moment he opens the door, he’s met with the familiar sound of Eva and Vilde bickering again, Vilde curled into Eva’s side while Eva gestures angrily at her computer screen. If it wasn’t a sight that he saw at least twice a week, he might be a little more concerned.

“As you can see, we’re having a great time,” he deadpans, collapsing back onto the couch while Eva and Vilde greet Even without even batting their eyes. Isak scowls down at his socked feet until he feels Even drop down beside him, crowding into his space to see the screen of Eva’s computer.

“Feel better now, Isak?” Eva asks him, batting away Vilde’s hand as she tries to click on a file.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“That one!” Even and Vilde shout over him in unison, Even leaning across his lap to point at the computer. Isak breathes out slowly, his mouth close enough to Even’s neck that he could press his lips there with the slightest movement forward. Even’s shoulder is pressed against his chest, and Isak keeps himself completely still, his skin buzzing from his collarbones to his ribs.

“-my favorite!” Vilde is saying, beaming at Even as he retreats back to the other end of the couch. Isak resists the urge to pull him back, swallowing and peering over at the computer for a distraction.

“Ugh, really?” he scrunches his nose. Even turns to him, looking betrayed, and Isak reflects that things always go better for him when he keeps his opinions to himself.

“Don’t listen to him, Even,” Eva says, starting the movie and sliding her laptop to the center of their coffee table. “Isak loves romances, he just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“So you’re a secret romantic, Isak?” Even teases, nudging him in the stomach.

“No,” Isak sniffs, slouching down lower on the couch and glaring at the laptop screen.

“He’s also a liar,” Vilde chirps, moving so her head rests on Eva’s shoulder.

Isak sighs, narrowing his eyes at the movie as his face heats. If there’s one good thing to come from the blackout, it’s that it left their living room dark enough to mask the color in his cheeks.

“I’ve always been a romantic,” Even says, so quiet Isak isn’t even sure he’d meant for anyone to hear. Isak glances sideways through his lashes, shock zipping down his spine when Even is already looking back, a tiny smile playing across his face like he’s sharing a secret. He leans back alongside Isak, the shift causing their thighs to touch, but when Isak looks over again Even is engrossed in the movie.

 _“You know those days when you get the mean reds?”_ Even mouths along, blue and orange light flickering across his face as he recites the scene from memory. Isak has always considered Even handsome, ever since the day he showed up on their landing with a pile of moving boxes- but in the candlelight he’s become beautiful, and the realization is alarming. Isak’s had plenty of crushes in his life, a handful of flings, but he enjoyed them all for their brevity- he’d never considered them anything more than something fleeting. There’s never been someone who he would look at and want to keep.

Even shifts again, the back of his hand falling against Isak’s where it’s resting near his thigh. Isak swallows, his focus on everything else fading away. One of Even’s fingers extends out and runs lightly down Isak’s knuckles, his eyes never once leaving the film. Isak tries to watch the movie, just about managing to convince himself he’d imagined it when he feels it again, gentle and curious along back of his wrist.

When Isak peers to his left, Even is still watching the screen, but his eyebrows raise in just a shadow of movement. To Isak, it looks like a challenge.

Feeling bold, he traces his middle finger along the lines on Even’s palm, feeling Even’s hand unfurl to welcome his. On Isak’s right, Vilde and Eva still sit folded into each other, both watching the movie with drooping eyes. Isak traces over the lines again, reaching the top of Even’s palm and feeling him move to slot their fingers to fit together. As Even starts to tighten his grip, there’s a sharp cracking noise, and the living room is flooded in light. In that same instant, Isak retracts his hand back, moving it quickly out of reach.

 

* * *

 

“Isak, you have to kill it.”

“Kill _what?”_ Isak takes one of his earbuds out, looking up at Eva over the top of his laptop. It’s been a week since the blackout, and neither he or Even have mentioned anything about that night other than Vilde’s burning and relentless crush on Audrey Hepburn. Isak is beginning to wonder if anything really happened at all, or if the candles had some kind of weird aromatic ingredient that caused a vivid hallucination.

“There’s a giant rat in my room and you _have to kill it.”_

“I’m not going to _murder_ a rat, Jesus, Eva,” Isak replies as he watches her tiptoe across the living room, her hair flying around her, before she throws herself onto the couch beside him. A moment later Vilde emerges, screaming at the top of her lungs and wearing a pair of Eva’s heavy combat boots.

“It tried to bite me!” Vilde screeches, curling herself into a ball on one of the kitchen chairs and hugging her legs so they can’t touch the floor. “I could get _rabies!”_

“You can’t get rabies from a rat, Vilde,” Eva replies, poking at Isak’s shoulder while he tries valiantly to ignore her.

“I could get the plague!”

“Please tell me she’s joking.” Isak looks at Eva in despair.

“She is,” Eva replies, sounding unsure.

“How are you two ever going to deal with this kind of shit on your own?”

“We’ll call Sana,” Vilde says, kneeling on her chair and trying to lean over far enough to see into Eva’s room.

“Sana lives like thirty minutes away,” Isak replies, rolling his eyes, “she can’t just drop everything because there’s a rat in your house.”

“Then we’ll call Chris!” Vilde beams.

“No,” Eva sighs, “Chris is afraid of rats, too.”

“Noora?”

“She’s never home, she travels so much.”

Isak watches as both of them look over at the door to Eva’s room in great concentration, like this might be a serious problem for their future. After a full minute of their silent contemplation, Isak decides the crisis is over and turns back to his computer, only to see a flash of gray out of the corner of his eye.

 _“Fucking shit!”_ he screams, jumping back and sending his laptop flying.

“It’s in here?”

“Where!?”

“By the door,” Isak says, closing his laptop from where he’d thrown it against the cushions and placing it out of harm’s way. When he turns back around they’re both watching him.

“What?”

“Isak, you liar!”

“Eva-”

“You’re scared of rats!” Eva shouts, pointing her finger at him and wagging it in his face. He scowls and slaps it away.

“I’m not, I just think they’re creepy.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“It’s not! I’m not _scared-"_

“Then why are you sitting with your feet off the ground?”

“Guys!” Vilde calls, now kneeling in the very center of their kitchen table and, for some reason, holding a spatula. “I have an idea.”

“Are you going to try to deep fry it to death?” Isak raises his eyebrows, but feels his sarcasm is lost somewhat from where he’s sitting on the headrest of the couch.

“No,” Vilde says, still holding the spatula aloft and scanning the ground like a marksman, “but I know someone who can help us.”

Eva snaps and points at Vilde, hopping up onto her knees.

“Who are you-” Isak stops when they both turn to him with matching smiles.

“Make a break for the door on three,” Eva announces.

“What!?” Isak yelps. “Wait, this is a bad idea- we don’t even know if he’s home- he might be busy-”

 _“Onetwothree!”_ Eva shouts, and all three of them bolt for the front door. They skid to a stop at Even’s apartment, all of them slightly out of breath and Vilde with the spatula tucked into her belt loop like a sword.

“We really shouldn’t bother him, though,” Isak says, standing in front of Even’s closed door, unable to bring himself to knock. It isn’t like they’ve been avoiding each other, not exactly, but every time they cross paths Isak starts to feel on edge.

“This is a crisis situation, Isak,” Vilde replies, her arms folded.

“Jesus, Vilde, it’s not a _crisis-”_

Eva sighs and shoves them both out of the way, rapping on Even’s door with a firm hand. Isak swallows and refuses to make eye contact with Eva or Vilde when he answers.

“Isak, hi!”

“What are we, ghosts?” Eva asks.

“Eva, Vilde,” Even nods towards each of them, his smile turning quizzical when he catches sight of the spatula sheathed in Vilde’s jeans.

“For protection,” she declares. Even nods like this makes perfect sense.

“There’s been a break-in,” Eva supplies. “And Isak is doing an awful job as the man of the house-”

“I didn’t realize I had walked into _the 1950s-”_

“Did they steal anything?” Even asks, blinking wide eyed at the three of them.

“Yeah,” Eva snorts, “Isak’s dignity-”

“It’s just a rat!” Isak yells, folding his arms and glaring at Eva, who beams back at him.

“You’re scared of rats?” Even asks Isak, his lip curling into a smile.

 _“No_ , I’m not, I just-”

“Please help us,” Vilde says, her eyes wide and earnest. “He’s useless.”

Even agrees, looking like he’s trying not to laugh when Isak throws his arms up in silent outrage and paces over towards the stretch of wall that separates their doors. He leans against it, sulking, while Vilde bequeaths Even with her spatula, which he takes from her with a solemn gravity. Honestly, Isak hates all of them.

“Why don’t you stay out here where it’s safe,” Even teases as he passes Isak on his way into their apartment. His fingers brush against Isak’s chest, so light it’s barely a feeling, and Isak is left staring at the empty space where he’d been.

“He’s pretty cute, really,” Even is saying when Isak walks through the door a few minutes later.  He’s crouched down next to the clear plastic trash can they keep in their bathroom, now flipped upside down and with a blurry rat-shaped figure darting around underneath. “Poor guy was probably more scared than you were.”

“I don’t think so,” Vilde says from where she’s spread out across the couch, scrolling through her phone, “you should’ve heard Isak scream.”

Even looks up at him with bright eyes.

“I didn’t scream,” Isak snaps.

“Like hell you didn’t,” Eva says, kneeling down next to Even and examining the trash can.

“I was _surprised."_

“It’s okay to be scared, Isak,” Even says. He’s watching Isak, his entire face alight like he’s seconds from laughing. Isak sighs and resigns himself to the knowledge that none of them are ever going to let him live this moment down.

“What do you think? Should I keep him?” Even asks, nudging the trashcan towards Isak’s feet. Isak bites the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to run and hide in another room. “Name him Isak? Feed him dinner?”

“You’re going to name that thing after me?”

Even just smiles down at the blurry figure that’s frantically trying to climb up the side of the trashcan.

“A thousand people,” he says in accented English, “freezing their butts off, waiting to worship a _rat.”_

Isak watches as he slides the trashcan to the threshold of their front door.

“Am I upsetting you, princess?” Even asks, still in terrible English, looking up at him like he isn’t being the most fucking confusing, charming person Isak has ever met.

“Only Sana’s allowed to call me that,” Isak protests. Even doesn’t seem to notice, his focus on the open front door and the rat trying to scratch itself free.

“You’d better move out of the way,” Even says, placing both hands on the sides of the trashcan. Isak trips back into the living room, perching on the arm of the couch by Vilde’s feet, who is humming to herself and watching her own Instagram videos. “Be free, Isak!” Even shouts as he lifts up the trashcan, prodding the rat a few times until it flees out their front door.

“What happened to keeping him?” Isak calls across the room as Even shuts the door.

“He would’ve eaten all your pasta,” Even shrugs. “I only have enough food for one Isak.”

“I would’ve chosen the rat,” Eva says from their armchair.

“She’s just jealous,” Even says, coming over to lean against the wall next to Isak. “We’re a better team than they are.”

“Why’s that?” Isak asks, ignoring the tiny swell in his chest.

“Balance,” Even replies, knocking his shoulder against Isak’s.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t that Isak is confused. He’s been there, done that- endured his own identity crisis like he was pulling a rotting tooth from the back of his mouth. He likes Even, he knows that much. It’s the _amount_ that’s the problem.

He knows that love- real, genuine, honest-to-god love exists. He’s pretty certain his parents felt it for each other, once, and he knows Eva and Vilde have it reciprocated in spades, their quiet, comfortable certainty of each other enough to make even someone like him throw away any doubt. But it’s never been something he’s believed in for himself. Love is meant for other people, not for him- and he’s fine accepting that.

So he doesn’t really understand why, once he’s become so sure of what to expect out of his life, his heart would decide to change its mind.

A soft tapping noise fills his quiet room, interrupting his thoughts. He groans and rolls over in bed, burying himself deeper in his blankets and squinting at the blank wall across from him. The noise continues for another minute, steady and faint, and he’s just about to drag himself out of bed to yell at Eva to be quiet with whatever bizarre shit she’s doing at one in the morning, when the noise is replaced by the fuzzy, thrumming bass of a song.

He jolts upright, staring at the wall beside him. It’s the wall that he shares with Even’s living room, and when he slides a hand up the rough paint, he can feel it vibrate beneath his palm. He curls his fingers into a fist knocks sharply three times. After a moment, he gets three knocks in return. Smiling, he turns to sit facing the wall, closing his eyes and letting his forehead rest there, feeling the beat of the song enter through the top of his skull and end near the bottom of his spine.

A moment later, the music changes to the most awful, grating pop song Isak has ever heard.

Groaning and trying not to laugh, he slams his fist against the wall until the music stops. Just as he’s sighing in relief, the same song starts again, ten times louder than it was before. He can just barely make out a cackle of laughter underneath, and he shakes his head, smiling. About halfway through, he starts to thump his head against the wall in a rhythm that he hopes conveys his true suffering. The song stops again, and is replaced with something slow and beat-heavy, soothing as it pulses against his skin. He closes his eyes as the album plays through, sliding back down into bed and reaching out to press his hand to the plaster, falling asleep with the music stinging his open palm.

 

* * *

 

“Do you have a fan I can borrow?”

Isak drags a hand through his hair, squinting in confusion out his front door.

“Even, it’s three in the fucking morning,” he replies, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. The light outside their building seems bright compared to the deep, blessed darkness of his apartment.

“An industrial sized one- it has to be big since all the ones I’ve tried aren’t strong enough to blow the water anywhere.”

“Why the fuck would I own an industrial-”

“I should probably just go and buy a wind machine. That’s what they used in the Wizard of Oz- did you know the tornado is just a muslin sock? It was the most expensive special effect in the film-”

“Even it’s _three in the morning-”_

Even doesn’t seem to hear him, still rambling on about wind machines and muslin. Isak sighs and scrubs both his hands down his face, wiping the remains of sleep away with them. When he emerges and looks back up at Even, who is gesturing wildly as he says something about needing to buy an entire fucking crane, something in Isak’s brain suddenly fires up and clicks into place.

“-and I’ve got to go collect leaves before all the trees lose them during winter,” Even is saying, retreating from his doorstep and looking across the street towards the park a few blocks away. Isak bolts forward and catches the door just as it’s about to swing shut.

“I can go with you,” he interrupts, feeling a nostalgic wave of panic when Even begins wandering down the landing. He turns back around at Isak’s words, looking almost surprised to see Isak there at all.

“Come with me?”

“To get leaves,” Isak replies on an exhale, his breath a puff of white in the night air. “Just, uh- just give me two seconds all right?” he backs into his apartment, leaving the door open behind him as he scrambles to find his keys. “Two damn seconds,” he whispers, snatching a beanie that might actually be Eva’s from off their floor. He runs into his room, throwing on the first pair of sweatpants he finds lying crumpled on his floor and shoving his phone into his pocket. It’s been a while since he’s had to do anything like this, but the habits kick in for him as strong as muscle memory, flooding him with a sense of déjà vu. As an afterthought, Isak grabs a plastic shopping bag when he runs past the kitchen.

“Still there?” he calls, almost out of breath when he slides through his open front door. His relief practically paralyzes him when he sees Even is, in fact, still there, leaning against the railing and tapping out a staccato rhythm on the bars with his fingers.

“Okay, ready,” Isak says, shoving the beanie as far down his head as it can go. “Tell me about what you’re making.”

He can barely get a word in after that, but he doesn’t really expect to. They walk side by side in the icy fall night, Isak stopping every now and then to collect the prettiest looking leaves he can make out in the dark, and stuffing them into the plastic bag in his pocket. Beside him, Even has already forgotten about the endeavor, and instead is obsessed with the idea of finding a frozen puddle. Isak knows it’s futile to tell him it isn’t cold enough yet, so he follows alongside, wiping his nose against his sleeve.

He isn’t entirely surprised by Even- his mother and his time as a student nurse have left little space for surprises- but there is some kind of feeling, something deep in the pit of his stomach that’s growing and thriving. He thinks it’s probably been there for a while, but tonight it’s blossoming like the most intrusive flower, rearranging everything inside him to make room for itself.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice at first when Even grows quiet beside him, shivering in his thin sweatshirt.

“Want to head back?” Isak asks, the gentle tone in his own voice surprising him. Even doesn’t seem to notice, snapping the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and not meeting Isak’s eyes as he nods. Isak nods back in return, resisting the urge to do something humiliating like give Even his jacket, or slide a hand up to the space between his shoulder blades.

It’s a half an hour later, after he’s watched Even disappear without a word into his own apartment, that he’s finally sinking back into his own warm bed again. The white numbers on his phone show a daunting 04:48, but he thinks he might know the name of the feeling flourishing through him.

 

* * *

 

He’s almost expecting it when, the next evening, loud thumping noises start sounding from next door. Isak rises from the couch, where he’d been watching one of Eva’s shitty reality shows with her, and wanders into the kitchen, ignoring her calling for him to come back and finish his _amazing_ commentary.

That morning before class he’d done a little bit of reading, digging out an old textbook from under his bed, bleary eyed after just three hours of sleep. It was a lot of dry, academic phrasing he’d already known, but studying has always brought him comfort, regardless of how productive it is.

“Oh _really?”_ Eva asks when he passes her with a steaming mug in his hands. He rolls his eyes and exits out their front door without a word.

When he steps outside, he sees half of Even’s living room is sitting out on the landing. The chairs to his dining table, a rug, and his entire couch are pushed up against the rails, while Even drags out a lamp to join them. The air wafting out from his apartment has the thick, sharp scent of cleaning products.

“Hey,” Isak calls, leaning against the wall by his door. “I brought you some tea.”

“Isak, hi,” Even smiles, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. It’s shiny with sweat, and Isak wonders just how long it took him to pull most of his furniture outside. “For me?” Even gestures down at the cup in Isak’s hands, and Isak nods, passing it over to him.

“There’s no caffeine,” Isak says, watching as Even takes a sip. “I thought maybe it’d help you sleep.”

“Thank you,” Even replies, holding the cup between both hands like he’s relishing the warmth. When he meets Isak’s eyes, his expression seems to say that he’s thanking Isak for more than just the tea. Isak smiles and shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“No big deal,” he says. “I’ve got to get some studying done, but-” he coughs, “I’m just- I mean- I’ll be home.”

Even smiles, looking delicate and vulnerable with the steam from the tea curling around his face. Without really thinking about it, Isak steps forward and cups a hand around his jaw, kissing him against his cheek. He turns, blinking in shock at himself as he stumbles back towards his open front door, hearing Even call out a quiet, breathless goodnight behind him.

 

* * *

 

“I don't see what the problem is,” Eva shouts, slamming closed what Isak thinks must be one of the doors to their kitchen cupboards. “You asked me for my opinion, so I gave it to you!”

Isak groans and shuts his textbook. He tries not to make a habit of keeping score when Eva and Vilde argue, but it’s hard when they have no problem sharing their issues for the entire damn world to hear. Based on what he’s heard so far, Eva is down three points.

“You said you don’t even _care-”_

“Well I don’t!”

Isak winces. Eva just as good as lost.

The amazing thing about Vilde and Eva, though, is that while they argue on a regular basis, Isak has never known either of them to be mad at each other for longer than a few hours. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t an excruciating, loud, _painful_ few hours.

He grabs his headphones from his nightstand, wishing for the thousandth time that he wasn’t broke and could afford to buy a pair that cancel out noise. They work for about five songs, until someone starts to very aggressively wash the dishes and Isak knows he has no choice but to either suffer or flee. Without a second thought he grabs his textbook, walks down the hall, and knocks on Even’s door.

“Eva and Vilde are fighting,” he says when Even answers. “I’m looking for a sanctuary from the inevitable make up sex.”

“Welcome to the most sex free apartment in Norway,” Even announces, gesturing through his doorway with a flourish.

Isak isn’t exactly sure how to respond, so he walks past Even, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“How’s the project going?” he asks, nodding towards one of Even’s cameras, perched on his coffee table on top of a pile of chaotic looking notes.

“I sort of gave up on it, honestly,” Even admits. He comes to stand next to Isak, biting his lip and looking down at the mess of papers like there’s some kind of puzzle drawn out on the pages. “Sorry,” he says after a moment, dragging a hand across the back of his neck and looking up towards the ceiling. “For the last couple days. I didn’t want- I mean-” he sighs, and his hand falls back down to his side.

“Don’t apologize,” Isak replies. He stares at Even until Even looks back, and whatever he finds in Isak’s expression seems to relieve him.

“Is it cool if I use your place to study?” Isak asks after a moment, lifting his textbook and waving it with a grimace. “I’ve got a test tomorrow that might actually kill me.”

“Wouldn’t someone be able to save you, in a school full of doctors?” Even teases, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve seen their test scores,” Isak replies, moving over to Even’s dining room table and trying to clear a space for himself in the mess. “I don’t trust any of them.”

Even watches him trying to transport a stack of papers off the table, then shakes his head with a smirk and, in one sweep of his arm, shoves everything onto the floor. Isak kind of admires his technique.

“Says the man who admitted he’s going to fail.” Even laughs, pulling out the chair across from Isak and flopping into it.

“I said I was going to _die_ _,_ not fail.”

Even folds his arms and props his chin on them, watching Isak with the air of someone prepared to spend their entire night that way.

“You don’t have to, like, watch over me,” Isak says, acutely aware that Sana still refers to Even as his babysitter.

“Can’t I help?”

“Help me... study?” Isak asks. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Not really,” Even shrugs, smiling.

“You know this isn’t _interesting_ science, right?” Isak says, scrutinizing Even. “It’ll be really, really boring.”

“I bet you’ll make it interesting,” Even replies, unphased.

“Your loss,” Isak sighs, shoving his open textbook across the table towards Even.

Half an hour later, Even is lying sprawled out across the floor with the textbook covering his face, giving Isak the strangest impression of a tortured genius, instead of just a dramatic study partner.

“I can’t do it anymore, Isak,” he whines, right in the middle of the sentence he’d been reading out. “My brain wasn’t made for this, I don’t have your stamina.”

“My what?” Isak asks, smirking as he leans back in his chair.

Even tugs the book down by its spine to smile up at him, and Isak is a little disappointed that he’s apparently immune to embarrassment.

“I told you it was going to be boring,” Isak says, sighing as he gets up and pries the book from the front of Even’s face. “I can do the rest on my own, you don’t have to help.”

Even tilts his head to pout at him upside down, which Isak feels is a little unfair.

“You just said you couldn’t do it anymore!”

“We just have to make it more exciting,” Even replies, rolling into a sitting position and looking around his apartment with what, quite frankly, seems like a very dangerous expression. “Raise the stakes a little.”

“That sounds like you want to kill me.”

“Not _kill,"_ Even murmurs, still wandering around with that thoughtful, glazed look in his eye. Isak stares at him, alarmed, and Even returns his look with a peaceful smile before he disappears into the kitchen.

“You like chocolate, right?” he calls over to Isak, waving a Freia bar in the air. Isak nods, wondering if a “no” would’ve done anything to change Even’s mind. Even bangs around in his kitchen for another few minutes before he calls back out to Isak again.

“What’s your _least_ favorite food, would you say?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Tofu?”

“Something else.”

Isak catches Even’s eye from across the room, and narrows eyes at him as he realizes what he’s planning.

“Cake,” he replies.

“Mayonnaise,” Even answers for him, tossing a jar in the air and catching it. Isak winces.

“For every answer you get right,” Even announces, walking back into the living room with a spring in his step, “you get a piece of chocolate.” He swipes Isak’s textbook from his grasp and throws himself onto the couch. “For every one you get wrong, you get a delicious spoonful-”

“-a _spoonful!?”_

“-of mayonnaise!”

Isak crosses his arms and glares down at Even.

“You’re evil.”

“Only when I’m bored, which is your fault.”

“You _volunteered_ to help me,” Isak scowls. Even pats the cushion next to him.

“This is helpful,” Even says, leaning back into the couch and cracking open the textbook. “You definitely won’t forget any of the ones you get wrong, now.”

Isak really hates that he kind of has a point. He shakes his head and collapses onto the couch next to Even.

“Okay, what are the...” Even pauses, scanning the page, “the general anesthetics for loss of sedation and consciousness?”

“Halothane,” Isak replies, ticking it off with a finger, “propofol…”

“One more,” Even says, nudging the jar of mayonnaise closer.

“Ketamine,” Isak says quickly, shoving the jar back towards Even.

“See? Works great,” Even declares as he breaks off a piece from the chocolate bar. He holds it up with an expression Isak can’t quite read, and Isak takes it from him, watching him return to skimming through the textbook for another question.

“What foods increase risk of hypoglycemia with oral antidiabetic drugs?”

“Fuck, uh-” Isak squints down at his knees, trying to remember going over them in class. Next to him, Even starts humming to himself. “Ginseng, that was one.”

Even raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Okay, garlic, that’s another one.”

“Three more,” Even, says, tapping the sides of the book.

“Shit, _three?”_ Isak groans and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He feels something heavy land in his lap. “Hang on, damn it!”

“You’re never going to get them all,” Even laughs, shoving a spoon in his face.

“Asparagus?”

“Nope!”

“Even, I seriously can’t eat a spoonful of this,” Isak says, picking up the jar and examining it. It looks like it’s never been used, and Isak wonders why the hell Even has it in the first place.

“Okay, not a spoonful, then.” Even rises from the couch and makes his way back into the kitchen, coming back out a moment later with a bag of Hot Cheetos. “Just dip one of these in it.”

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“I don’t joke about Hot Cheetos, Isak.”

Isak sighs and looks from the bag to Even, then decides as he grabs one that love turns all people into fucking fools.

This is verified to him thirty seconds later, when he’s spitting out a half eaten cheeto into Even’s sink while Even is slouched up against the counter behind him, crying in laughter.

“I absolutely fucking hate you,” Isak coughs, wiping his mouth.

“You love me, or you wouldn’t have done it at all.”

After forty-five more minutes of Even’s game, Isak somehow manages to only have to eat three more repulsive, mayonnaise-dipped cheetos. Even inexplicably joins him for the last one, admitting that he’s too curious not to. Isak doesn’t really understand what made it seem so appealing, but he’s starting to understand that trying to predict Even’s decisions is a futile effort.

“I thought you were just being dramatic,” Even says, wincing and taking a long sip from Isak’s water.

“Now you know I’m not.”

“Well, you’re still being dramatic, but it _is_ fucking disgusting,” he shifts in his position on the couch, where he’s now using Isak’s shoulder as his own personal backrest. “Okay, unless there is infection present, antibiotics shouldn’t be given post-operatively for...”

“Six to twenty-four hours.”

Even breaks off a piece of chocolate and holds it out lazily. Isak leans forward without thinking and bites it out of Even’s hand, his lips brushing against Even’s fingers. Even’s hand hovers in the air for a beat before he drops it back down to his side.

“Incisions,” Even clears his throat, slouching down lower against Isak’s arm, “should be evaluated…”

“Twice daily.”

Even takes another square of chocolate but hesitates before he holds it up, his hand disappearing before it comes up to Isak’s lips. Isak leans forward and grabs it with his teeth again, tempted to look down to see Even’s expression.

It takes him a few seconds to realize the chocolate doesn’t taste quite right.

“Did you dip this in mayonnaise!?”

Even collapses in a fit of laughter, rolling over and mashing the side of his face into Isak’s arm.

“You’re a monster,” Isak says, leaning forward to grab the glass of water from the table and trying to ignore Even’s smile pressed directly into his bicep. “Really, fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” Even agrees solemnly, dipping a piece of chocolate into the mayonnaise jar and eating it.

 

* * *

 

When Isak wakes up, he’s curled around Even.

They’re spread out across Even’s couch, their legs tangled together, and Isak’s right hand is resting against Even’s chest. He stills, breathing quietly, not daring to move as he listens to the very faint hum of Even’s fridge.

Escape seems unlikely, but he lies there trying to plot out a route anyway, the logical side of his brain at war with a reluctant part of him that is revelling in the rhythmic rise and fall of Even’s chest under his palm. Isak can hear him breathing from somewhere above his head, every exhale Even makes ruffling his hair.

The apartment is warm and bright, and Isak lets himself stall, watching dust swirl in the light slanting through the window. He mimics the movement with his finger, feeling flushed and content, stopping with a sharp inhale when the pattern of Even’s breathing falters under his hand. Isak closes his eyes and curses silently to himself.

When he looks up, Even is watching him.

“Hi,” Even says, his voice still deep with sleep. His arm shifts where it’s wrapped around Isak, dropping to rest under his ribs.

“Hi,” Isak replies. He looks back down at where his hand is curled into the fabric of Even’s shirt.

“Did you sleep okay?” Even asks. He clears his throat, and when Isak looks back up, Even is staring at his ceiling. His skin has a slightly rosy color to it, and Isak can’t tell whether it’s from the warmth of the apartment or if he’s finally being granted the privilege of seeing Even Bech Næsheim embarrassed.

“I did.” Isak’s fingers tighten in Even’s shirt reflexively, and he hears a tiny intake of breath above him. His brain is still sluggish and stupid from sleep, and he feels frozen with his fist clenched against Even’s chest.

They lie in silence, Even’s arm relaxing around him, sliding lower. His fingers play against Isak’s hip, tapping out a slow, idle rhythm. Isak cautiously turns his head into Even’s chest, burrowing into his shirt and breathing in deep. Above him, Even huffs out a warm, surprised laugh.

“I have to go,” Isak says eventually. He flattens his hand out slowly, uncurling his fist and smoothing down the cotton of Even’s shirt. “I have class soon.”

Even hums, making no move to release him.

“Are you going to let me leave?” Isak asks, laughing when Even just tightens his grip around him.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Even whispers back, his fingers running back and forth against Isak’s hipbone.

“If I fail my test it’ll be your fault.”

“Ooh,” Even raises his eyebrows, “are you saying I’m _not_ the best study partner ever?”

Isak fights back a smile. “No, I’m not saying that,” he admits.

“Then I don’t think I care,” Even replies, resting his chin on top of Isak’s head. Isak laughs and pushes against him halfheartedly.

“What time do your classes end?” Even asks, grabbing at his wrist when Isak attempts to shove him away again. Isak smiles and rolls his eyes at his own, quite frankly, humiliating behavior.

“Not until late.”

“Come back here when they do,” Even says. There’s no question to his tone, but it still sounds more like a polite request than a demand.

“Okay,” Isak agrees.

 

* * *

 

When Isak drags himself back into his own apartment fifteen minutes later, he realizes he forgot entirely about why he went over to Even’s in the first place.

“Some modesty would be great,” he says from where he’s leaning against the kitchen sink. He’d just been standing there, innocently drinking a glass of water and trying to drown the bizarre aftertaste of hot cheetos, chocolate, and mayonnaise, when he was gifted with an eyeful of Eva, wearing only an oversized shirt and her underwear.

“I’m clothed!” Eva protests, grabbing a box of cereal and a bowl from one of their cabinets. She has to stand on her toes to reach them, and when she does her shirt rides up to the small of her back.

“Eugh, no, not enough,” Isak squeezes his eyes shut, but he knows the damage is already done. He’s scarred for life.

“You’re so dramatic, Christ, Isak.” She tilts her head in consideration at her empty bowl before she shrugs and tips the cereal straight from the box into her mouth.

“It’s fucking nine in the morning, at least wait until I’m fully awake to flash me.”

“Where did you go last night, anyway?” she asks, her demeanor suddenly sweet as she tiptoes into his space and props her chin on his shoulder.

“Nowhere.”

“To Even’s?” She bats her eyelashes at him, and Isak sighs.

“Yeah, to Even’s.”

“And you spent the night?”

“And I spent the night,” he agrees.

Eva hums and scans his face in consideration.

“Nothing happened,” Isak says, slightly creeped out by the way Eva is sizing him up. She digs her chin into his shoulder until he yelps and flinches. “Nothing happened! We just- I mean we, like, spooned, a little.”

 _“You_ cuddled!? _”_ she shrieks, gaping at him. “On purpose?”

Isak sighs and hands her his empty water glass, then turns on his heel and marches out of the room.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Isak, it’s cute!” she shouts after him, running and flinging herself into his doorway just before he slams it closed. “You don’t usually take things slow like this,” she says when Isak doesn’t respond, but just sinks down into his desk chair and starts tossing books into his backpack.

“I know,” he replies, throwing the empty can of Red Bull he finds at the bottom of his bag across his room.

“You really like him, don’t you?” she asks. “You want to go on _dates_ and call him your _boyfriend_ and-” she gasps, clutching a hand to her heart, “you want to have _pet names_. _”_

“Could you please leave me the fuck alone?”

“As a married woman-”

“You aren’t married.”

“As a mostly married woman, I want you to know that I support your partnership, and wish you many lazy, half-assed blowjobs during Netflix marathons.”

“Eva, we aren’t dating,” Isak sighs, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Eva watches him skeptically. “We fell asleep together, once, on accident. I’m not going to turn into some clingy-”

“It’s not clingy!”

“-desperate, _loser_ just because of that.”

“Men, I swear to God,” Eva groans. “Is it that hard to just talk about it, like, once?”

“Yes,” Isak replies, pushing his way past her and out the door.

 

* * *

 

When Isak finally gets home from his classes that night, he stalls. He throws all his books onto his desk, then pointlessly checks his email three times before he goes into the kitchen and eats cold leftover pizza directly from the box. Then he decides it’s extremely urgent that he cleans out the contents of their fridge, starting with the horrifying drawers at the bottom where they only ever shove food that is destined to be forgotten about and go rancid.

He manages to get to the last layer of filth before there’s a knock at the front door.

“Shit,” he sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face and then blanching when he remembers that the last thing he touched was a bag of moldy cheese. He washes his hands, procrastinating, before he goes to open the door, ignoring Eva watching him from the kitchen table.

“Hey,” he greets Even, trying not to sound guilty. Even hums in response, swaying forward onto the balls of his feet as he looks down at Isak. Isak clears his throat, uncomfortably aware of Eva’s eyes burning into the back of his head.

“You’re going to need a better jacket,” Even says after a moment, reaching forward with a gentle hand to tug at the drawstring of Isak’s hoodie. Isak retreats without a word back into his room to grab a thicker jacket, tucking it under his arm along with a scarf that had once been Eva’s. When he walks back to the front door, Even slides the scarf out from the crook of his elbow and wraps it carefully around Isak’s neck.

Isak can practically feel Eva raising her eyebrows from behind him, so he quickly shoves Even into the hallway, tripping out after him and slamming the front door. Even smirks at him, producing a joint from his jacket pocket before he starts making his way down the landing, not waiting for Isak to follow.

“Have you ever been to the roof?” he calls over his shoulder.

“No,” Isak sniffs, shrinking down into the warmth of his scarf. “Why? Is that where you take all the boys?”

 _“There_ he is,” Even says, laughing as he catches the railing to the stairs and bounds gracefully up them two at a time. “I was getting worried you’d been replaced by an imposter.”

“Is that okay for you to be smoking?” Isak asks as Even puts the joint between his lips, trying and failing to light it as he leans back against the door to the roof.

“Yes, mom,” Even says around the joint. “I’m fine as long as it’s not all the time.”

“Do you have one for me?”

“Definitely the real you,” Even snorts. “So demanding.”

“I’m not demanding!”

“We’re going to share,” Even says, ignoring him as he shoves the door open with his hip. “You can do that, can’t you?”

 _“Yes,”_ Isak replies, glowering at Even. Even glares back teasingly, and Isak hates that he makes it impossible for him to be in a bad mood.

The roof itself isn’t exactly as picturesque as Isak had been expecting- there’s no quaint rooftop garden with string lights, but instead just large, noisy electrical units and air conditioning tubes that they have to weave their way around. Even leads him to the edge facing downtown and perches on one of the smaller boxes, patting the metal next to him for Isak to sit.

“Fucking beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Isak finds himself agreeing. It isn’t- not to him, at least- but he knows it is to Even, and he doesn’t really want to be the one to take that away. Next to him, Even finally gets the joint lit, looking endearingly focused as he takes a hit. He passes it to Isak, who breathes in too fast and has to pass it back, coughing until his eyes water.

“I didn’t realize I was with a beginner,” Even says, beaming as he thumps a hand into Isak’s back. “See, you take this end and you inhale, then you hold it-”

“Yeah, thanks jackass,” Isak rasps, rolling his eyes.

“Try again,” Even says, suddenly gentle when he holds it up to Isak’s lips with a sure hand. Isak hesitates for a moment before he leans forward, letting Even keep it steady against his mouth.

“Better,” Even whispers as Isak blows out smoke into the cold night air.

“Do you come up here a lot?” Isak asks him, watching as Even’s cheeks hollow when he takes another drag, looking more at ease than Isak thinks he’s ever seen him. It’s kind of a shock, to realize that Even maybe isn’t always as carefree as he appears, and it sends a jolt of protectiveness through him.

“Not really,” Even replies, his voice tight as he holds smoke in his lungs. “Just when I’m feeling a certain way, I guess.”

“Like, bad?”

Even purses his lips thoughtfully as he turns to look out at the city.

“I wouldn’t say bad,” he replies eventually, leaning back on his hands. “It’s hard to describe. The closest thing I can think of is homesickness.”

Isak nods, considering Even’s words. He thinks he understands the certain ache that happens when you miss a home you haven’t left.

“You never told me,” Even says, tapping a finger against the back of Isak’s hand, until Isak gets the hint and takes the joint from him, “why you want to be a nurse.”

Isak sighs. He’s usually fine with lying to people, but the annoying, hideous truth is that he wants Even to know everything about him, even the parts he doesn’t like.

“Wait until the weed kicks in,” Isak replies. “Then maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Deal,” Even says, kicking a foot against his.

They pass the joint back and forth between them in silence for a bit, the night growing warmer and friendlier around Isak. The lights from the city turn bright and fuzzy, and Isak considers changing his opinion about the rooftop. There’s something to be said about unremarkable places, especially when they make themselves memorable.

“Have you ever seen Amélie?” Even asks.

Isak hums tunelessly, taking a moment to process his words. His thoughts are happy and hazy, and he repeats the word _Amélie_ in his head until it stops sounding like a word at all.

“No, I don’t think so,” Isak closes his eyes for a moment, his eyelids heavy.

“This reminds me of it a little,” Even says. Isak taps out some ash over the roof’s edge, and they both watch as it falls out of sight. “She amuses herself with silly questions about the world below,” Even throws his voice deep like a narrator’s. “Such as, how many couples are having an orgasm right now?”

Isak isn’t sure if it’s a rhetorical question, but he debates the answer anyway, squinting down at all the buildings like he’ll be able to see through their walls and start counting. He’s wondering when the last time was that he’s had sex when, beside him, Even collapses forward in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ask that out loud?” Isak looks over at Even, too high to be humiliated. Even nods, still choking on his laughter and wiping his eyes.

“Maybe you’ve had too much,” Even says once he’s caught his breath, taking what’s left of the joint from Isak’s fingers. Isak’s hand buzzes when their skin touches, and he looks down at his palm as it fades.

“Probably,” he agrees. His body feels boneless and heavy, so he lets himself fall sideways until his weight is propped up against Even, his head pillowed on his shoulder. He’s solid under Isak’s cheek, and Isak feels that same sense of safety he had the first time he’d walked into Even’s apartment.

“When I was younger,” he mumbles, huddling deeper into Even’s side, “my mom would have these fits. She’s a lot better now, but,” he sighs, and feels the heat of Even’s hand on his knee “well, that’s why I decided to become a nurse, anyway. I’m just used to it, I guess.”

Even nods, rubbing his hand up and down against Isak’s thigh.

“Gonna take a nap,” Isak murmurs, vaguely registering Even sliding his hand off his leg, and bringing it up around his waist, “just for two seconds.”

Even laughs, and the sound passes as a vibration from his body to Isak’s. “Okay, two seconds,” he replies.

Isak turns his head into the juncture between Even’s neck and shoulder, rubbing his frozen nose against the skin there to keep it warm. His lips brush against Even’s collarbone every time he turns his head, and he feels Even’s breath catch more than he hears it.

“You’re a brat,” Even accuses, tilting his head to the side.

“Shhh, I’m sleeping,” Isak whispers, burrowing himself deeper into Even’s side.

“No, that’s enough,” Even says, warm but firm. He slides a hand under Isak’s jaw and draws him forward with strong fingers. Isak almost expects the kiss to be harsh, but Even is surprisingly gentle when their lips meet, his hand softening against Isak’s cheek. Isak clings to the side of Even’s shirt, everything around him growing clear and sharp again.

Even kisses him slowly, thoughtfully, and the sweetness of it is too much. Isak shoves a hand through Even’s hair and deepens the kiss, biting at Even’s bottom lip. Heat spreads through him, undeterred by the cold of the night, unfurling from the pit of his stomach and urging him closer. Even slides a cold hand under his shirt, and Isak gasps in surprise into his mouth.

He feels Even smirk against his lips, which he manages to ignore until Even is giggling helplessly into his cheek. His cold fingers come up to playfully tweak Isak’s nipple, and Isak pulls away with a yelp to glare at him.

 _“Now_ who’s the brat?” he asks, slapping away Even’s hands.

“Guilty,” Even replies, leaning forward to press his lips to Isak’s cheek. Isak catches his mouth when he starts to back away, kissing him in truce.

“I should tell you,” he whispers against Even’s mouth, “I’m not- I don’t usually do things like this.”

“What things?” Even whispers back, nipping unconcerned at Isak’s bottom lip.

“Like,” Isak gently pushes him away, “like relationships. Real ones.”

Even stares back at him, confused, and Isak feels the beginnings of remorse at taking Eva’s advice. He isn’t cut out to talk about things. He’s much better at letting all his relationships fester in a state of comfortable disfunction.

“I just thought I should let you know.” Isak clears his throat. “I don’t really-” he stops himself from saying _know what I’m doing_ , certain that if he admits as much, Even will give up while he’s ahead.

“Okay,” Even says, nodding slowly and rubbing his hand along Isak’s thigh. “That’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Isak breathes, smiling at Even in relief.

Even nods and smiles back, leaning forward to kiss the corner of Isak’s mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Isak doesn’t see Even. He lingers on the landing as he’s leaving for school, holding onto the secret hope that Even might just happen to be leaving at the same time. He stays until he can’t wait any longer, pushing the limits for how late he can be to class.

When he gets home that afternoon, Even’s apartment is locked tight, no noises sounding from their shared wall when Isak curiously, maybe a little desperately, rests his ear against it. For the rest of the night he loiters around the living room, making himself unnecessary cups of coffee and pretending to do anything but listen for a knock on the door. He ignores Eva watching him, and doesn’t respond when she makes a pointed comment about how he seems to have changed his tune.

The next day, Isak still doesn’t see Even. He has classes until the afternoon, most of which he doesn’t pay attention to at all, instead fiddling with the button on the side of his phone every few minutes to check for any new messages. He’s in the middle of Methodology when the screen lights up from next to his laptop, and he scrambles to pick it up only to see the most disappointing name possible.

_Vilde Hellerud sent you a message._

He rolls his eyes and opens it, feeling irrationally mad at her.

_have you gone to get your suit yet???_

He sends her back a simple _yes_ , hoping that maybe it’ll be enough to shut Vilde up, but knowing from experience it probably isn’t. Sure enough, she texts him back half a minute later with _how did it go??_

 _it fits_ , he responds, throwing his phone onto the table. It slides across the surface, lighting up again before it even comes to a stop.

_did you buy shoes???_

He sighs loudly, startling the girl sitting next to him so much that she looks over with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” he mutters, typing out a response. _yes I bought shoes!!!!!! I’m busy can you stop texting me?????_

Vilde sends back a glittery pink heart emoji, which offends Isak on a number of levels. He tosses his phone back across the desk with a clatter and turns to his laptop. One of the biggest mysteries in his life will always be why Vilde chooses to harass him when she has a perfectly good Eva to bother- one who, for some reason, actually _enjoys_ it.

Suddenly, he realizes Vilde might not actually be a complete waste of his time. He lurches forward and grabs at his phone again, the girl on his right glancing at him like she thinks he might be having some kind of breakdown.

 _when you first started dating eva, how often did you guy stext each other?_ He bites the inside of his cheek while he watches her gray typing bubble pop up, leave, then pop up again.

 _how often did we sext??? isak!!!_ There’s a tiny, angry, red faced emoji and also, inexplicably, an emoji of a woman in a red dress dancing.

 _typo_ , he sends back quickly. _how often did you guys TEXT. normally. I don’t want to know more about your sex lives than I already do_

 _I thought you were busy!?_ she sends.

 _Not really,_ he responds, hitting the keys impatiently. _I just don't like talking to you. will you answer my question??_

Her gray response bubble appears for a moment, then vanishes. Isak blinks down at the screen, astonished, to see that for the first time since he’s known Vilde, he’s actually managed to get her to shut up. Of course, it just also happens to be the one time he actually wants to talk to her.

Rolling his eyes, he searches for Eva’s name in his phone instead, sending her the same question but this time without the typo.

 _uh idk,_ she responds, _like every hour?_

_every hour??? okay lets pretend youre normal, how often would you say then?_

_two hours?_

Isak scoffs, this time gently laying his phone down beside him, well aware of the girl to his right still casting suspicious glances his way. He’s never really asked Eva or Vilde for relationship advice before, but some part of him has always recognized them as the standard that he should be striving for. His phone pings, Eva’s name popping up at him.

_is an hour not enough?? is that bad????_

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and types out a quick _no youre fine_. A moment later he adds _btw I think your wife is mad at me sorry._

He catches a flash of her response, a hurried _what did you do?!??_ but he’s already searching for Even’s name in his contacts. He just has to grit his teeth and do it.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t do it. Or rather, he _does_ text Even, but it takes him until the end of class, typing out and erasing grossly overstated, heartfelt messages, each and every one making him cringe. Finally, just as there’s a unified scraping of chairs as the class rises to leave, Isak blindly searches for the first vaguely funny meme he can find and punches down send before he can change his mind.

He’d like to think it’s some kind of progress, but something in the back of his mind tells him it’s more of a step backward.

Especially when Even never texts him back.

He doesn’t pace around the living room that night like the night before, but instead sprawls himself out across the couch, blinking dully when Eva comes home sometime around midnight.

“You should apologize to Vilde,” she says, standing over him while he cranes his neck to look around her to see the TV. “She’s really hurt by what you said.”

“I was just being honest,” he grumbles, shoving himself into a sitting position just in time to catch something explode on screen.

Eva rolls her eyes and slaps the back of his head.

“No, you were being a jerk.”

“Whatever, she’ll be fine,” he replies, rubbing a hand over the spot where Eva hit him. She sighs in exasperation and walks off towards her room, leaving him alone with nothing but his shitty action movie to keep him company.

 

* * *

 

By Saturday, Isak starts to get really, genuinely worried. Even still hasn’t responded to his text, which, sure, was idiotic and didn’t really deserve a response in the first place- but he also hasn’t been around his apartment, or in the laundry room, or on the roof. His car still sits, untouched, in the parking lot behind their building, red and orange leaves gathering against the windshield wipers.

He knocks on Even’s door that afternoon, unsurprised but even more concerned when there’s no response. All pretense forgotten, he dials Even’s number from the doorstep, absentmindedly picking at the paint peeling by the hinges of his front door.

Even picks up on the third ring, and Isak is so surprised he almost drops his phone.

“Hey, Isak!”

Even’s voice seems cheerful enough, stifled by what sounds like a whole crowd of people in the background. There’s a rhythmic, thumping bass that is distinctively club music, and Isak makes out someone shouting _who’s that_ by the receiver. He picks a chunk of paint off of Even’s door, scowling.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, the question suddenly feeling pointless and foolish.

“Yeah, I’m great!” Even shouts, the background noise very slowly growing fainter. “Sorry, it’s really loud in here!”

“Where,” Isak clears his throat, “where are you?”

“I think it’s called Metro?”

“Is that in Oslo?” Isak doesn’t think he’s ever heard of a club called Metro, but it dawns on him that he only ever goes to Eva’s bar when he goes out, now.

“No it’s in Bergen,” Even pauses, the music just a suggestion in the background now. “Remember?”

“No?” he feels suddenly bitter, almost spiteful. There’s something about how casually Even is speaking that annoys Isak, standing there with a pile of anxiety-driven paint chips at his feet.

“Yeah, I thought I told you.” Even pauses again. His end is completely silent now, the noise from the club far gone. “I’m with the crew, we’re filming on location for a few weeks.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Isak replies, angrily scraping against a stubborn piece of dried paint. It catches under his nail, poking him there, and Isak watches as a tiny pool of blood forms.

“Oh, sorry,” Even says, his voice heavy in Isak’s ear. “I must have forgotten.”

Isak coughs, taking a step back and staring at the wreckage he’s done to Even’s door. He’s going to have to paint over it, now. The pretty light blue color that lives under the off-white is thriving in the hole he’s made.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” Isak says, turning and walking back towards his own apartment. He clears his throat as he shoves open his front door. “Have a good time, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” Even responds, the music reappearing in the background. “Bye, Isak.”

“Bye,” Isak says shortly, watching the call time blinking at him as he hangs up.

He knows it had probably been an honest mistake, that Even probably _had_ just forgotten to tell him. But there’s also a part of him that can’t stop thinking about the voice he heard on Even’s phone, about the entire life Even has that he knows nothing about. Obviously Even’s having such a good time with whoever those people are that he hasn’t missed Isak at all- hasn’t even thought about him enough to call, to text, to spend two whole hours picking out a stupid fucking meme.

Isak may be inept, but he’s not an idiot. He knows what it looks like when someone tries to cut and run, mostly because he’s usually the one to do it. He stands in the doorway to his apartment, staring down at his phone and feeling like the most pathetic, naive asshole who ever lived.

 

* * *

 

On Mondays, Isak spends most of the day working as an intern nurse at the university hospital. When Isak is having a good day, the internship is fun and challenging and interesting. He jokes with the patients and feels intelligent, useful even.

Today is not a good day.

“Heads up, loser!”

Something hits him square in the back of the head, and he swivels on his heel, glaring, to see Sana leaning up against the nurse’s station.

“You’re not funny,” he snaps, bending to pick up the wad of paper she’d thrown. He hurls it back as hard as he can and watches as it sails past her and down the hallway.

“Good shot,” she smirks, unimpressed. To Isak, both the best and worst thing about Sana is that she can always read his shitty moods, and is almost never phased by any of them. “When’s your break?”

Isak shrugs. “Now, I guess.”

He’s already done his rounds, which mostly include following a resident nurse around and listening to the elderly female patients try to flirt with him. Occasionally, depending on who he’s shadowing, he’ll get to do some things on his own- but today had not been one of those days.

“Bad morning?”

Isak shrugs again. He doesn’t want to talk to Sana, because he knows that the moment he opens his mouth she’ll be able to guess everything.

“Am I getting the silent treatment, or something?”

“No,” he says, folding his arms.

“I kind of feel like I am,” she replies, but her tone is light. She scrutinizes his expression, leaning in close.

“Ugh, stop,” he winces, shoving her away. Her eyes narrow.

“Something happened to you,” she declares.

“Nothing happened to me.”

“Spill, princess,” she demands, grabbing him by the arm of his scrubs and yanking him down the hall towards the cafeteria. He rolls his eyes and trips after her, wondering when their friendship evolved into Sana dragging him places against his will.

They both buy lunch, Isak deciding to pile as much onto his plate as possible, hoping that maybe if he’s constantly shoveling food in his face Sana won’t be able to get him to talk. At the very least, he’ll be able to eat his feelings.

She lets him inhale an entire sandwich, sitting across from him in a knowledgeable, patient silence, before she effortlessly ruins his lunch.

“Are you pouting because of Vilde?”

He coughs on the pastry he’s eating, pounding a fist against his chest.

“You think this is about _Vilde?”_

“I know you’re fighting, she called me the other day,” Sana raises her eyebrows, and Isak almost wishes Vilde _was_ his biggest problem.

“First, we aren’t fighting,” he says, pausing to gulp down half his glass of water. “She’s being dramatic.”

“And you’ve never been dramatic before in your life.”

“Exactly,” Isak returns smugly. “Second, even if we _were_ fighting, I wouldn’t fucking care, because it’s _Vilde."_

“Look, I know she blows everything out of proportion, and fighting with your best friend is hard, but-”

“Stop right there,” he interrupts, swiping his pastry off his tray. _“_ _You_ are my best friend. And Jonas. Eva and Vilde are my roommates.”

“Who you spend all of your free time with.”

“You’re busy!” he waves a chunk of bread in protest. “And Jonas is out of the country, I don’t have any other options.”

Sana tilts her head at him in consideration.

“What?” he asks stupidly, his mouth full of turnover.

 _“Oh_ , I get it now,” she says, nodding.

_“What?”_

“This is about that guy, your babysitter,” she leans back in her chair, folding her arms. “You led him on, didn’t you? You’re trying to pull your disappearing act, but you feel guilty.”

Isak slowly puts his pastry back onto his tray, his stomach twisting.

“He’s your neighbor and it’s awkward now, because he’s all heartbroken,” she says. Isak swallows and looks down at his food, his appetite suddenly gone. “Isak, I _told_ you that one day all your bad habits were going to come back and slap you in the face.”

“More than you know,” Isak mutters, squishing the edge of his pastry with his finger.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he coughs, squashing his thumb into the bread harder. He thinks about the last night he’d seen Even, and how obvious it must have been that he doesn’t know how to be in a real, functioning relationship.

He sees how it must look, to Sana. If it had been seven months earlier and his and Even’s roles were reversed, Isak would’ve run away to Bergen, too.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Isak gets his test back from the week before, a tiny sharp A stabbing his paper triumphantly. He knows he should feel happy, proud even- it hadn’t been an easy test by any means, and he’d studied his ass off for it.

But every time he thinks about how hard he worked, the memory is tainted with thoughts of Even’s breath against his hair, Even’s warm body under his, Even’s sweet, sleep-deep voice in his ear. The most bizarre sensory memory of mayonnaise and chocolate comes flooding back, sour and saccharine at the back of his throat.

The girl who sits on his right glances at his grade, and seems to be satisfied that whatever shit he’d been going through last week has passed. She smiles at him, throwing a tiny thumbs ups his way, which he returns halfheartedly, bleakly reminded of Vilde and her over-investments in his life.

He unlocks his phone and considers sending her a picture of his test, but remembers, the bitter taste in his mouth growing, that Vilde still isn’t speaking to him. He scoffs quietly, rolling his eyes. If Vilde thinks that ending her usual routine of texting him the most inane shit about her day is a punishment, it’s fine by him.

 

* * *

 

Isak supposes he probably should have realized that Vilde being mad at him would also mean having Eva mad at him by association. He’s not sure he understands the weird shit couples pull when they act like they share each other’s emotions in some sort of disgusting, conjoined telepathy, but he knows whatever opinion they share is one that’ll be hard to change.

That morning he tries, cornering Eva as she’s burning her breakfast in the kitchen and has no way to escape.

“Whatever that is, you definitely killed it,” he says, wrinkling his nose as he catches a whiff of charcoal mixed with, possibly, eggs.

The pan Eva is cooking on gives a particularly mean hiss. He clears his throat, turning and rummaging through the fridge.

“Remember a couple years ago, when we tried to roast a chicken and almost set the kitchen on fire?”

Eva sighs and snaps the stove off with a sharp click, staying with her back turned to him.

“I would tell you you’ve gotten better at cooking since then, but I’d be lying,” Isak says, closing the fridge and leaning against the door. He folds his arms, trying and failing to gauge her expression as she empties her mostly blackened pan of eggs onto a plate. “You seriously aren’t going to say anything?”

Eva spins on her heel, her hair flying around her as she meets his eye.

“Why would I say anything to you when you hate talking to me?”

“I don’t hate talking to you,” Isak replies, rolling his eyes. He despises fighting with Eva, mostly because he despises _how_ she fights. For someone who is usually so carefree, Eva becomes surprisingly devious when she’s angry. “I never said anything about you-”

“But you said it about Vilde.”

“It-” Isak scrubs a hand down his face in frustration, “I was joking!”

“Then say that to Vilde! Swallow your pride, Isak!”

He opens his mouth, ready to protest, but the words die in his throat. There’s no use in defending himself when they both know she’s right.

“I didn’t think she’d take it so personally,” he admits, resting his head back against the freezer. Eva sighs and picks up her cooling plate of eggs, shovelling a forkful into her mouth.

“You know she looks up to you,” she says around her food. “She always has.”

“No idea why, _”_ Isak replies, shuffling around the lettered magnets on their fridge until they eloquently spell out _dick_. “You guys are the ones with your shit together, getting fucking _married._ I can’t even get a guy to stay in the same city as me.”

Eva’s hand slows on its way to bringing another forkful of eggs up to her mouth. She tilts her head at him in consideration as she carefully takes a bite.

“Even left?”

“He’s in Bergen, for work,” Isak says, making the _dick_ on the fridge a plural. “He forgot to tell me he was leaving.”

“It was probably a mistake,” she reasons, shrugging.

“He hasn’t texted me in a week,” Isak replies, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Oh,” she says lamely.

“Sana thinks I’ve had it coming.”

“You don’t-”

“I’ve abandoned every guy who’s ever liked me. The longest relationship I’ve managed was three weeks long. That’s not even a _month.”_

“There’s nothing wrong with sleeping around,” she replies, defensive. Isak remembers back to a time before they’d met Vilde, when they would hang around in clubs together and give guys ratings out of ten. Those nights usually ended with the both of them meeting on the stairs outside their apartment the next morning, still dressed in last night’s clothes but usually feeling pretty pleased with themselves.

“No,” he agrees, “but there is with being a jackass.”

“Well, you know how you fix that?” she asks, taking a decisive bite of eggs and then jabbing the prongs of her fork towards his chest. “You apologize to Vilde.”

Isak groans as Eva smiles up at him condescendingly before she turns to leave.

 

* * *

 

After a while, Isak stops expecting Even to contact him at all. He counts five days since they’d spoken on the phone, then six, and then he quits counting at all. He stops flinching when his phone pings, and doesn’t cringe when he walks past Even’s door in the morning, the top left corner still picked clean of its white paint.

Vilde, who had been unusually absent from the apartment, starts appearing again. She and Eva both ignore him when she’s there, so Isak usually retreats into his room, shrinking onto his bed to stare listlessly at the ceiling. The sound of them flirting warmly through the walls stings worse than any silent treatment. One night, in a haze of despondency, he brings up Even’s number, typing out a simple _miss you_ before he sighs and hits delete.

The next morning, he buys a can of off-white paint and spends the afternoon carefully painting over the blue hole on Even’s door, tired of seeing it every time he has to walk down the hall. He spends a full hour in the shower washing the paint clean from his arms, then collapses into bed, exhausted even though his clock is glaring at him in a deep red _20:18_.

When he wakes up, the number has changed to _21:46_ , and someone is pounding on his door.

“Isak, I’ve called in reinforcements,” Eva shouts from the other side, the sound of her knocking replaced with urgent whispering.

“What?” Isak groans, annoyed. He doesn’t understand why he’s being woken up for something that isn’t a fire or a medical emergency. Keeping his eyes shut tight, he pulls his sheets up over his head, praying that if maybe the world can’t see him, it’ll leave him alone.

Unfortunately, it does not.

“Isak!” A familiar voice rings through his room, along with the bang of his door slamming against the wall. “Big brother is here!”

“Ugh, god,” Isak moans, tightening his grip on his blankets in preparation for the assault that he knows is inevitable. “Eva! Of all the things you could’ve done, you call _Eskild?”_

“Sorry, Isak!” comes her reply from the hall. She doesn’t sound remotely apologetic.

“You aren’t excited to see me?” Eskild pouts, jumping onto Isak’s bed and clawing at the sheets.

“No,” Isak curls tighter into a ball, grieving his lost sleep and personal space. A moment later the blankets are ripped from his hands, and Isak is introduced to the bright, cold reality of the world. “Eskild, _why_. _”_

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Knife?”

“You’re upset, I’ll be big spoon,” Eskild replies, unbothered as he slides under the sheets behind Isak and curls around him. “Now tell me what’s wrong. Were you mean to a cute boy again?”

“No,” Isak grunts, throwing Eskild’s arm back when it tries to snake its way around him.

“Was a cute boy mean to _you?”_

Isak hesitates, burying his face deep into his pillow.

“I thought everything was fine,” he says, ignoring Eskild’s arm wrapping around his waist again.

“Honey, what happened?”

“He left.” He’s oversimplifying it, he knows, but he feels pathetic and abandoned, and he wants all the sympathy he can get.

Eskild hums from behind him, giving him a tiny squeeze around his stomach. Their friendship is probably the weirdest relationship Isak has ever had, but for some reason it’s also one of the steadiest.

“I always knew this day would come,” Eskild sighs, petting Isak’s hair like he’s a treasured pet. “My baby’s first heartbreak.”

“M’not a baby,” Isak grumbles, yanking the blanket up to cover most of his face.

“Not anymore,” Eskild replies, plagued by fake sniffles against the back of Isak’s head. “They grow up so fast.”

Isak sighs and closes his eyes, fully intending to fall back asleep and leave Eskild to fake cry for him for the rest of the night.

“Don’t die on me yet, Isak,” Eskild says, sitting up on his knees and shaking Isak by his shoulders. “The night is young!”

“What?” Isak turns and blinks up at him blearily. “No.”

“Yes!” Eskild bounces triumphantly onto his knees. “The best remedy for a broken heart is finding yourself a better, hotter guy. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with remembering your own name,” Isak replies, letting Eskild yank him upwards and then shove him off the bed and onto the floor.

“Hopefully by the end of tonight, I won’t.”

Isak has to admit, getting so wasted he forgets his own name _does_ sound pretty appealing.

“Buy me a shot?”

“Isak, I will buy you _five_ shots,” Eskild says, beaming down at him. Isak studies him for a moment, weighing his options. If he doesn’t go, Eskild will most likely spoon him for the rest of the night, annoying him out of his sleep and trying to coax him into listening to Whitney Houston’s greatest hits. If he _does_ go, there will be alcohol.

“Deal,” Isak decides, grabbing his wallet from his desk.

“Hold on, scruffy,” Eskild says, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. “You aren’t going out like that, you’ll repel them all like a bad pair of cargo pants.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way I dress,” Isak says, scowling. “I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better.”

“Isak, I can get you drunk, I can’t work miracles.”

Isak lets Eskild pick out a new pair of clothes for him, wondering sourly as he changes if Even hated the way he dressed, too. He doesn’t think it’s really fair, seeing as Even dressed more or less the same. It takes him a full minute of standing there, mentally cursing Even before he realizes that he’s angry about something that never happened.

The sooner he can get alcohol into his system, the better.

“Eva, babe, you coming with us?” Eskild shouts down the hall as Isak makes his way for the door. He doesn’t really care if Eva goes, but he’s almost certain of what will happen if she does.

She stomps out of her room in a pair of stilettos and sweatpants, staring the both of them down.

“I’m only coming if Vilde can come, too,” she says, waving her phone in her hand. Isak knew it was coming- the last time Eva had gone out without Vilde was the night they’d met.

Isak shrugs, leaning back against their front door. It’s not like he’s the one with a problem, after all. Vilde was the one who started the whole thing.

That’s how, forty-five minutes later, Isak finds himself hanging off the edge of a bar, irritably watching Vilde laugh into Eva’s cheek as Eva tries and fails to find the beat of the song they’re dancing to.

“Okay, what about him?” Eskild shouts into his ear, pointing his cocktail towards the other end of the bar. There’s a guy leaning forward on a stool, laughing at something the bartender says as he pours out a drink. He looks tall, but still shorter than Isak, with shiny dark hair and broad shoulders.

“Not my type,” Isak says, cringing into his drink. “He’s too short.”

“Isak, you’re going to have a hard fucking time finding someone in here taller than you,” Eskild replies, pursing his lips as he resumes his mission of surveying the entire club for Isak’s supposed magical savior dick.

Isak tries not to think about having to look up to meet Even’s eyes, or about waking up with Even’s long legs slotted between his.

“All right, I’ve got it,” Eskild says, grasping Isak by his chin and turning his head to look towards the far left of the dance floor. There’s a bald man towering over the rest of the club, tattoos creeping out of his shirt sleeves. Isak can just make out the outline of something through his thin white shirt, dark ink stretched across the entirety of back.

“You mean if he doesn’t kill me?” Isak asks incredulously. Eskild sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Honestly, you could use some kink in your life.”

Isak chokes on his drink just as Eva appears at his side, sweaty and beaming. She slaps him on the back, which does nothing but ignite the alcoholic burn at the back of his throat.

“No luck?” she calls over his head towards Eskild.

“This brat is too picky,” Eskild shouts back, slouching in defeat against the bar.

“Can I try?” she asks, accepting a drink from Vilde as she appears on Eva’s other side, refusing to look in Isak’s direction.

“By all means,” Eskild sighs, gesturing towards the club at large. Eva smiles triumphantly and nods over their heads, towards the opposite end of the bar. There’s a guy sitting on his own at the end, looking down at his phone. He’s not tall, Isak can tell even though he’s sitting, but he has a strong, sharp jawline and a trendy mass of blonde curls that Isak finds charming.

“I win!” Eva shouts, throwing her arms in the air and spilling half her drink onto Vilde’s sleeve.

“But Isak hates blondes!” Eskild yells over her, offended.

As Eva leans across him to contradict Eskild, the blonde man turns and catches his eye. Isak blinks and spins around, leaning into the bar and sandwiching himself between Eva and Eskild.

“Wait,” Vilde shouts over them, “but what about Even?”

“What _about_ Even,” Isak snaps, annoyed. He flags the bartender down and orders two shots.

Vilde leans forward to look at him, her eyebrows furrowing.

“I thought-”

“Whatever,” he cuts her off, shoving past her and making his way through the crowd, both shots held high above his head. He stops next to the blonde stranger, who turns in his chair to smile at him.

“Hi,” he says. His eyes are a nice, calm brown- nothing at all like Even’s. Isak clenches his jaw and hates himself for measuring them against each other.

“Hey,” he replies, sliding one of the shots towards him. “This is for you.”

“Thanks,” he says, picking it up and nodding towards Isak. “Cheers?”

“Cheers,” Isak agrees, knocking their glasses together before he tips his back, wincing when it burns going down.

“What’s your name? I’m-”

“Wanna dance?” Isak interrupts. He doesn’t really give a shit if it’s rude- obviously doing things the correct, polite way doesn’t work for him.

“Sure,” he replies. He doesn’t look all that bothered, so Isak counts it as a win.

Turning on his heel, Isak walks out onto the dance floor, expecting the other guy to follow. He hadn’t intended on actually going home with anyone- he’d just wanted to use the night as an excuse to get drunk and, if he was lucky, let his hangover distract him tomorrow from his other problems. But, quite frankly, he’s tired of feeling sorry for himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Eskild giving him a triumphant thumbs up.

A warm hand finds its way around to the small of his back, so Isak puts an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in close enough that it’s hard to get a good look at his face. Isak’s never really been much of a dancer, but when he thinks of it as a precursor to sex it’s easier for him to tolerate. It helps, too, that his dance partner seems to feel the same, already grinding up against him. Isak pushes a hand into the stranger’s hair, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on the beat of the song and the feel of another body against his.

The man starts to say something, too quiet to make out over the music. Isak shakes his head, so he moves in closer, his lips brushing up against Isak’s jaw when he speaks. Isak flinches away, covering up the motion by taking the stranger by the hips, spinning him until his back is flush against Isak’s chest. From behind, it’s easier for Isak to look at him.

They dance like that for a while, Isak only cringing once, when his hand strays dangerously close to the man’s crotch.

“Did you want to come back to mine?” he asks, slipping his hand into Isak’s back pocket.

Isak does. He wants to want it- wants to sleep with this guy and be cured of everything, just like Eskild said. But the truth of it is, he knows he wouldn’t be able to sleep with anyone except Even.

 

* * *

 

“Eva’s not here.”

Isak stands in front of his open doorway, blinking down at Vilde. She’s shivering in a huge, puffy pink coat, with a bottle of red wine in her hand.

“I know,” she says, sniffling. She scuffs a toe against the pavement, looking shy. “I came to see you.”

It’s been four days since they went to the club together, and Isak likes to think he’s doing better. He doesn’t wallow around the apartment anymore, but he also doesn’t lie to himself. When he misses Even, he misses Even. The simple truth of it almost makes it easier, somehow.

“I wanted to say sorry,” Vilde says, squaring her shoulders and meeting his eye. The tip of her nose is red from the cold, and Isak thinks it makes her look young. “Eva told me what Even did.”

Isak licks his lips, ignoring the way his chest tightens.

“I wouldn't have given you such a hard time if I’d known,” she says. “I know if Eva did that to me I’d probably be really depressed, too.”

“I’m not depressed,” Isak replies. Vilde tilts her head at him skeptically as he clears his throat. “That’s- you’re not being fair.”

She opens her mouth to protest.

“I meant it isn’t fair to you.” Isak sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who was an asshole, you shouldn’t have to apologize.”

“I know I can be annoying-”

“No,” he interrupts, “you aren’t annoying, Vilde.”

“You don’t have to lie,” she says, huddling deeper into her coat.

“I’m not lying,” he replies. He thinks back to two weeks ago, when he’d had lunch with Sana. What she’d said then was true. He’s known Jonas the longest, and has the most in common with Sana, but Eva and Vilde understand him better than anyone. “You’re one of my best friends.”

“Really?” she looks up at him, sniffing against the cold.

“Yeah,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t hug me.”

Vilde lurches forward and throws her arms around him anyway, her pink marshmallow of a coat swallowing him whole.

“Can I take it back?” he asks, his voice muffled in swaths of pastel nylon.

“Nope.”

Isak groans, and when Vilde pulls back she’s beaming up at him.

“I brought this for you,” she says, swinging her bottle of wine by the neck. “Eskild is super fun, but he doesn’t know anything about breakups.”

“It’s not a breakup if we never even dated.”

“Sure it is,” Vilde replies cheerfully, pushing past him into the apartment. “You like him and he doesn’t like you and you’re sad, that’s all that matters.”

“Wow, thanks for putting it all into perspective for me.”

He doesn’t really want to break it to Vilde that he hates wine, so when she hands him a glass he accepts it without comment. When he takes a sip, he’s surprised to find it isn’t even that terrible.

“You’re going to have to see him again, anyway,” she says, curling up on the couch. “The best thing to do is just focus on yourself.”

“Are you going to make me wear one of those creepy face masks with the cucumbers?”

“Not unless you want to,” she smiles at him. “I bet you’d feel better if you did.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replies, collapsing onto the couch next to her. She stretches out her legs across his lap, and he lets her, shaking his head and taking another sip of wine.

Which is exactly when Eva comes stumbling through the front door.

“What the fuck?” she says, blinking down at them stupidly with her arms full of groceries.

“Eva!” Vilde smiles up at her, opening her arms for a hug. “Did you know I’m Isak’s _best_ friend?”

“I said _one_ of my-”

“You apologized?” Eva asks. She raises her eyebrows at him, impressed.

“Well-” Isak coughs, and Vilde knees him in the stomach.

“Yes! He apologized,” she says, her arms still held out towards Eva. She makes a tiny grabby motion until Eva leans down to kiss her.

“Okay, I guess you aren’t fired from the wedding,” Eva says as she straightens up and makes her way into the kitchen, dropping her bags of groceries onto the counter.

“I was _fired from the wedding?”_

“It was being considered,” Eva replies, glaring.

“Remind me never to piss you off again.”

“She’s scary when she’s mad,” Vilde whispers against the rim of her glass. Isak nods, smirking, as Eva rounds the corner with her own glass of wine and a glint in her eyes.

“I’m _what?”_

“...beautiful?” Vilde tries, smiling sweetly.

Eva shakes her head and joins them on the couch, flopping down on Isak’s other side and pulling Vilde’s socked feet into her lap. Vilde shrieks in surprise as she slides further down the couch, holding her wine protectively above her head.

“We’re sorry about Even, though,” Eva says, turning her head against the backrest to look over at him. “I know you liked him a lot.”

Isak clears his throat, looking down into his wine glass.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I just, I told him stuff- shit about my mom, you know,” he sighs and takes a very large gulp of wine. “That’s not something I really tell people about.” Eva hums in understanding, emptying half of her glass into his. “I don’t know- it felt different.”

“Well, you’ll always have us, Iz,” Eva says, wiggling one of Vilde’s feet by the toe of her sock.

“That’s true- you can join our couple!” Vilde suggests, hoisting herself up onto her elbow. “A threesome!”

Eva and Isak both cringe in unison.

“No thank you,” Isak replies, horrified.

“Yeah, no thank you,” Eva agrees.

“Is it because we’re girls? You know, we have lots of di-”

“Nooo,” Eva interrupts, drawing out the word as she reaches across Isak to plant her hand over Vilde’s mouth. Isak collapses back into the couch in a fit of laughter, curling into himself when his stomach starts to hurt.

“What?” Vilde asks, her voice muffled under Eva’s palm. “He’s laughing, see?”

Eva turns to glance at Isak, then looks back down at Vilde with a trace of astonishment.

“Huh,” she says. “You’re-” she pauses when there’s a sound from out in the hallway, and the three of them all turn to look at the front door. Voices drift in from the other side, and Isak’s stomach drops, his smile sliding off his face. He knows one of those voices.

“Was that Even?” Eva asks, spinning to look at him.

“He’s back?” Vilde sits up, sliding her legs off their laps. Eva rises from the couch, tiptoeing across the living room to look through their peephole.

“It is him,” she says. They both look over at Isak, like they’re expecting him to cry or melt or start speaking in tongues. Instead, he lifts his glass and downs the rest of his wine in one go.

“He’s still our neighbor,” he rasps, setting his empty glass on their coffee table. “He had to come home sometime.”

“You’re not gonna do anything?” Vilde asks, watching him.

“No,” Isak replies, sliding down into the couch and shrugging.

“Well, good,” Eva says, a forceful edge to her tone. “Good for you, Isak.”

She hops back onto the couch, curling up next to him and patting his knee.

“Vilde, you’ll never believe what Hanna told me today,” she says, nudging Vilde’s thigh with her toe.

“Was it about her ex?” Vilde asks. “She deleted _all_ her instagram pictures of him, you know.”

Isak shifts on the couch, trying and failing to pay attention to their conversation.

“Apparently he showed up during her shift the other night, and starting hitting on girls in front of her,” Eva says. “She’s, like, furious-”

“Fuck it,” Isak mutters. Before he can change his mind, he shoves himself up from the couch and marches over to the front door.

“You’re going over?” Vilde calls after him, but he’s already slamming the door closed behind him. He doesn’t know what exactly he wants to say to Even, but he knows he won’t be able to let go until he says _something_. He knocks on Even’s door, mind racing so furiously that he doesn’t notice at first when the man who answers isn’t Even.

“Oh,” Isak says, freezing in place. “Uh- hi.”

“Hi,” the man replies. He has floppy brown hair and kind, dark eyes, and Isak tries not to hate him on sight. “Are you Isak?”

Isak just barely restrains himself from shouting out _who wants to know_ as he folds his arms against his chest.

“Yeah?”

The man nods and disappears back into the apartment, leaving the door halfway open behind him. Isak can just make out his and Even’s voices coming from inside, whispering urgently to each other.

“Tell him I’m not home,” Even’s voice drifts out from inside the apartment, and Isak’s stomach turns.

“Pretty sure he already knows you’re here, dude,” the stranger replies. Isak feels a rush of appreciation, but then he remembers that this guy has probably spent the last two weeks with Even, going out to bars with him and talking about pretentious fucking film shit. “Just talk to him. Tell him what you told me.”

If Even replies, it’s something Isak can’t hear. A moment later, the door swings back open, with the stranger standing on the other side.

“Good meeting you, Isak,” he says politely, tossing a pair of keys in the air and catching them. “I’ve gotta run, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

He squeezes past Isak and into the hallway, whistling as he makes his way down the landing. When Isak turns back around, Even has replaced him in the doorway, standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” Even says, biting his lip. An overwhelming flood of affection courses through Isak. Seeing Even in person only reminds Isak of everything he loves that he’s forgotten.

“Can I come in?”

Even stands back from the doorway without a word. There’s a suitcase shoved up against his wall, and a pile of filming equipment stacked on the coffee table.

“Who was that?” Isak asks, trying not to sound bitter. “That guy?”

“Mikael,” Even responds, looking around his apartment like it’s something he’s never seen before. “He’s a crewmate.”

Isak hums, nodding. Even stays silent, standing a few feet away from him and concentrating on fiddling with the retractable handle on his suitcase.

“Isak,” he says suddenly, meeting Isak’s eyes. “What you said, the night before I left-” he pauses, sighing. “I wanted be fine with it. I tried to be- but I don’t think I am.”

Isak nods slowly. He’d guessed as much, anyway.

“If I’m being honest,” Even continues, “I’ve been kind of miserable.”

Isak blinks. _Even_ was miserable? _Even_ , who spent the last two weeks going out with all his coworkers, probably flirting with guys ten times hotter and smarter and more interesting than him?

“What-”

“I don’t know how to be like you. I can’t- I don’t know how to do things halfway.”

Isak stares him, his confusion and frustration building. He’d wanted to set things straight, to maybe even find some closure, but he feels like the moment he saw Even, every chance he had flew out the window. Even is just as fascinating and bewildering as Isak has ever found him.

“What do you mean _halfway?”_

“What I mean is, as long as we know each other-” Even pauses, licking his lips, “I think I’m always going to want more.” Isak meets his eyes, and the heat in Even’s expression floors him. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not what you want and I tried to respect that, but I just-” his words fade as he clicks the handle on his suitcase, folding it up and down.

“Want- more?” Isak replies. “But I thought- you _ignored_ me, I tried texting you and you never replied!”

Even glances up, his hand stilling.

“You mean that meme?”

“I-” Isak pauses, his anger dissipating. “Well, yeah,” he says lamely, wincing. “I’m not very good at- talking, or, I don’t know. Whatever. I _warned_ you!”

“No,” Even says slowly, his eyebrows furrowing, “you said you don’t like relationships-”

“I said I’ve never been _in_ a relationship!” Isak replies, flushing. “Not a serious one, at least.”

“I was giving you space,” Even says, taking a step forward, “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Not really,” Isak mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

“So when you said you don’t do things like-”

“I was _nervous_ _,”_ Isak groans, closing his eyes.

“Nervous?”

When Isak opens his eyes again, Even is closer still, watching him like he’s said something unexpected and wonderful.

“Well- yeah,” Isak swallows. “I thought you’d judge me or-”  
  
“Why would I judge you?”  
  
“I don’t _know_ , I just-”

“That doesn’t seem fair, considering you’ve never once judged me for my shit,” Even says, a tiny smile growing.

“Well,” Isak mutters, “that’s different, you-”

“Just to be clear,” Even interrupts, “you never wanted me to back off?”

Isak blinks and shakes his head slowly.

“Okay, cool,” Even says, and then he’s kissing him. Isak stumbles in surprise, taking a step back to regain his balance. Even follows him, one hand holding Isak’s jaw, the other steadying on his hip. Isak doesn’t hesitate to bury his fingers into Even’s hair and kiss him back, moving forward until they’re pressed together.

“I was going to text you more,” Isak says, breaking away to look up at Even. “I wrote you about fifty messages, but I just-”

“Really?” Even asks, the hand he has on Isak’s hip finds its way under his shirt and warms the small of his back.

“I mean, yeah.” Isak clears his throat, “I missed you.”

“Oh,” Even says, and then he’s kissing him again. Isak wraps both his arms around Even’s neck, standing on the balls of his feet until Even is supporting half his weight.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” Isak admits, his mouth brushing against Even’s.

“Does it seem like I’m not interested?” Even asks, kissing Isak again before he can respond.

“Hard to tell.”

Even snorts and scratches his fingers through the hair on the nape of Isak’s neck. When he kisses Isak again, it’s slow and full of purpose, and Isak realizes Even answering his own question, anyway.

“Should we-” Even pulls away, keeping his forehead pressed against Isak’s and rubbing his thumb slowly against his spine, “I mean, do you need to take things slow? Since you said-”

“I’m good.”

“Oh, thank god,” Even breathes, the hand on Isak’s back pulling him closer until Isak can feel him, already half hard through his jeans. Isak raises an eyebrow up at him. “Shut up,” Even says, catching Isak’s lips for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss.

“Didn’t say anything,” Isak murmurs back, trying not to smile. Even’s hands find their way to either side of Isak’s hips and guide him backwards, maneuvering him through his living room.

“Back, back, back,” Even says, kissing him like punctuation between every word as his hands run restlessly from Isak’s hips to his chest and back again. When they reach the hallway Isak spares him the trouble and pulls his shirt off by the back of the collar, tossing it in the direction of the couch. Even’s hands find him again, his lips warm against Isak’s neck.

Isak tilts his head to give him better access, closing his eyes as Even crowds him up against his bedroom door. He lets Even pin him there, mouthing at his collarbone until Isak’s dick is throbbing against the zipper of his jeans. He tugs at Even’s shirt, fumbling when Even ignores him in favor of biting at his earlobe.

“Will you fucking-” Isak growls in frustration, shoving Even off of him. Even trips backwards, laughing.

“Desperate,” Even teases, taking his shirt off and throwing it in the same direction as Isak’s.

“Not desperate,” Isak replies, pulling him back in by his wrists, “just needy.”

Even meets his mouth still laughing, trying and failing to kiss Isak through a smile. Isak rolls his eyes and reaches behind himself for the handle to Even’s door, throwing it open and forcing Even to lose his balance when he steps backwards.

Even falls into his chest, clutching onto Isak’s waist to steady himself. Isak grins down at him as he regains his footing, then feels the smug look slide off his face when Even drops down to his knees. His hold on Isak’s waist tightens, fingers digging into his skin with one hand while the other swiftly yanks open the button to Isak’s jeans. He quirks an eyebrow up at Isak before he leans forward and mouths at him through his boxers, and Isak immediately fists a hand through Even’s hair, pulling hard.

Before, Isak had always seen sex as something impersonal, almost clinical. Sex was meant to be efficient and quick, a means to an end. It never occurred to him that the parts before could be good, too.

“Okay?” Even asks, pausing to look up at him.

“Huh?”

“You got all quiet,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of Isak’s thigh.

“Sorry,” Isak says, smirking, “just kind of bored.”

“Oh, _that’s_ how it is,” Even replies. He shoves Isak’s jeans and boxers off in one fluid motion, ignoring Isak laughing down at him.

“Were you in the middle of something important?” Isak asks, his voice wavering when Even licks up the side of his cock. Just as Isak is scrambling to grab at his shoulders, Even pulls away and looks up at him.

“If I’m _boring you_ , then we can stop-”

Isak groans and pulls Even back towards him, closing his eyes when Even takes him into his mouth without hesitation. He moves slowly, but his mouth is tight and hot, his fingers strong around the base of Isak’s cock. It isn’t the gentle, sweet Even that Isak remembers kissing on the roof. This Even is fervent, determined, and the thought has Isak digging his nails into the back of Even’s neck.

“Stop, stop,” he says, pushing Even away before he embarrasses himself. Even looks up at him from where he’s still on his knees, breathing heavily and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “Come here.”

He pulls Even up with fingers threading back through his hair, pressing their mouths together while his other hand finds the front of Even’s jeans.

“Why are you still wearing these?” he asks. Even bites his lip, pushing into Isak’s hand as Isak struggles to get the button open.

“Jesus Christ, here,” Even pants, slapping Isak’s away and tearing his jeans open. Isak slides a hand down into his boxers and strokes him slowly, ignoring the uncomfortable angle in favor of enjoying the small, needy noises Even makes against his ear. He brings his other hand to Even’s jaw, turning his head for a messy kiss and attempting to guide them both towards the bed at the same time. The moment he takes a step back, his foot catches the pants still pooled at his feet, and they both collapse down onto the mattress.

Isak stares at the ceiling, one hand still wrapped around Even’s cock while Even laughs against his cheek.

“That was really smooth,” Even says, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“Thanks,” Isak sighs, attempting to get Even’s attention again by thumbing at the head of his cock. Even moans, dropping his forehead down onto Isak’s chest.

“I can _feel_ you laughing at me,” Isak says when Even’s lips start to vibrate against his skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Even says, still laughing as he pulls himself up to kiss Isak in apology. “You’re just-”

“A klutz?”

“You’re cute.”

_“Cute?”_

“Hot?”

“Better,” Isak mutters. There’s a part of him, a part not directly related to his dick, that would be satisfied with just lying in bed a flirting with Even all night. There is also another, stronger part of him, that is furious that Even is still wearing clothes. He shoves at Even’s jeans impatiently until Even takes the hint and rolls over to kick them off along with his boxers.

Isak takes a moment to stare down at him, sprawled out across the bed fully naked and hard, before he leans over to kiss him. It’s slow and tender, different from the urgency before, and Even seems to notice, humming in surprise against him.

“What do you-” Even starts, but Isak silences him with another kiss, deeper and more desperate. He lowers himself until their bodies are flush, Even moaning when their cocks press together. Before Even can pull back to finish his question, Isak shoves a knee between his legs, rolling them until Even is pressing him into the bed.

“Huh,” Even says, panting slightly and smiling down at him. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Don’t really see how wanting you to fuck me is a surprise,” Isak says. He expects Even to laugh again, but instead he groans and rocks down against Isak, his eyes flickering closed. Isak gasps at the feeling, fisting a hand in Even’s sheets. “That’s not helping.”

 _“I_ think it’s helping,” Even replies, his voice strained. He reaches down and takes Isak in his fist, stroking him with a tight, firm grip. Isak swears, his hips lifting off the bed reflexively as he loses his train of thought completely.

“Stop being useless,” he says, his breath hitching when Even moves against him.

“Useless, he says,” Even huffs out a breathless laugh, his hand slowing. “Here.”

He stretches across him to reach his bedside table, the added friction when he moves causing Isak to bite his lip against a moan. When Even shifts back down there’s a bottle of lube and a condom in his hand.

“It’s been a while?” Even asks, a hand coming down to Isak’s thigh to spread his legs. Isak watches him in silence, shifting down lower onto the bed as Even uncaps the lube and spreads it on his fingers. He pauses, his hand hovering in midair, and raises his eyebrows down at Isak.

“Yeah,” Isak replies shakily, once he realizes Even is waiting for a response. “Don’t worry about it, though.”

Even rolls his eyes and lowers his head to kiss the inside of Isak’s knee, distracting him as he slides a finger in. Isak bites his lip as the sensation floods through him, and Even works him open slowly, first with one finger and then with two, persistent but gentle.

It really _has_ been a while, that much is obvious to Isak with the stretch he feels at first, but that gives way to a raw fullness that has him groaning and arching into Even’s fingers. Even stays careful, pushing back his sweaty fringe with his free hand and watching Isak with dark eyes. He pauses to add a third finger, dripping lube over it, and when he pushes back in he hits a spot that sparks deep in Isak.

“Fuck,” Isak pants, grinding down on Even’s fingers.

“There?” Even asks, insufferably calm. Isak nods, biting his lip when Even curls his fingers. It takes Even a few tries to find the spot again, but when he does Isak has already started up a string of half-whispered swears, his hand untwisting from the sheets to wrap around his cock.

Even stops him, grabbing Isak’s wrist and pinning it to the bed, the motion causing the fingers of his other hand to thrust into Isak. Isak gasps, writhing under Even’s grasp and searching for some friction. Even meets his eyes and leans down, his fingers still buried deep in Isak as he kisses him. Isak groans into his mouth, hips stuttering every time Even pushes his fingers forward.

“Are you good?” Even asks, pulling back so their foreheads are still touching.

“I’ve _been_ good,” Isak replies. Even huffs out a single laugh, pushing their lips together before both of his hands disappear. Isak collapses back into the bed, panting and running one of his hands through his hair.

Even returns after a moment, kneeling between his thighs and running a hand down Isak’s side.

“Like this?”

“Yeah,” Isak replies, “but I’m not going to last long.”

“Have faith in yourself, Isak,” Even says lightly, and Isak laughs so hard he has to cover his face with the crook of his elbow. The laugh turns into a groan when Even folds one of Isak’s legs around his back and pushes into him, pulling Isak’s arm off his face and straining down to kiss him. He’s still moving carefully, but Isak can see it takes every ounce of his self-control, Even’s arms shaking on either side of him.

“Come on,” Isak says, digging his heel into Even’s back and pushing him in deeper. It seems to snap whatever was holding Even back, and he thrusts forward, bottoming out with a grunt.

“Sorry,” he pants against Isak’s neck.

“Don’t be,” Isak replies. “Just- oh, fuck.”

Even starts up a slow rhythm, each drag sparking through Isak. His lips find the underside of Isak’s jaw, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses there until Isak throws his head back with a whimper.

“Better?” Even asks, one of his arms sliding under Isak’s waist and changing the angle. Isak gasps, digging a hand in the hair at the nape of Even’s neck and pulling.

“More,” Isak demands. Even complies, rolling his hips and thrusting into him deeper.

“I should’ve-” Even breathes, closing his eyes and lowering his forehead onto Isak’s collarbone, “I should’ve guessed you’d be fucking bossy.”

“I’m-” Isak starts, fully ready to argue when Even changes the angle again, and he loses his train of thought completely. “Fuck- there, _there.”_

Even doesn’t respond, just rocks into him steadily, his hand moving to grip Isak’s hip. Isak can tell he’s close when he loses the rhythm, his hips stuttering and his thumb pressing down on Isak’s hipbone.

“Can you-” Isak pants, arching off the mattress. “I need you to-”

Even seems to understand what he’s asking for, the hand on Isak’s hip moving to stroke his cock. It only takes a few slides of his hand over the head before Isak is coming, crying out and slamming his hand against the mattress.

He winces as Even separates them, sinking into the mattress with light still dying out behind his eyes. When he finally catches his breath and looks down, Even has taken off the condom and is kneeling between his legs, his eyes closed while he strokes himself.

“Here,” Isak says, sitting up and pulling Even onto his thighs. He replaces Even’s hand with his own, still breathing heavily and watching with interest as Even loses control, biting his lip and thrusting into Isak’s fist. He comes with a small surprised noise, spilling onto Isak’s stomach before he collapses down onto the bed next to him.

“You know,” Even says, beaming and pushing his hair back from his head, “I’ve only been home for-” he pauses and turns to look at the clock on his bedside table, “three hours.”

“And?”

“And you already managed to get me out of my clothes,” Even replies, laughing. Isak snorts and hoists himself out of bed, wandering into Even’s bathroom and poking around through his cabinets until he finds something to clean himself off with. When he returns to the bedroom, Even has curled up under the blankets, the other half pointedly turned down in invitation.

“More than just that, I hope,” Isak says, throwing the washcloth at Even’s face before he hops back into bed, jostling Even as he folds himself into his side. It’s vastly different to how things usually go after he’s slept with someone, but for some reason it feels more natural than any of those times.

Even pulls him in after he tosses the washcloth on the floor, bringing Isak’s head up under his chin and kissing the top of his head.

“I just want to double check,” Even murmurs cautiously into his hair, “you’re definitely my boyfriend, right?”

Isak hides a smile against his chest and nods.

“I’m gonna need verbal confirmation.”

“Yes,” Isak sighs. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

When Isak wakes up, he’s curled around Even.

He panics for a moment, lying completely still with his arm draped across Even’s stomach, before the faint smell of sex brings the memory of last night rushing back.

“Relationship 101,” Even slurs, still half asleep as he grabs Isak by the wrist and drags him closer, “don’t run away in the morning.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Mmmm, good. You’re learning.”

“If you’re going to turn this into a class, I’m breaking up with you,” Isak says, pressing his lips to Even’s chest. “I already have enough studying to do.”

“There will be an exam every week,” Even says, barely audible as he yawns and burrows down into the blankets. “Your midterm is in three months.”

“What if I don’t pass?” Isak asks, amused. He turns his head up to look at Even, who is lying serenely with his eyes closed.

“Remedial relationship. No sex.”

Isak barks out a laugh, causing Even to open one of his eyes and squint down at him.

“There’s no way you’d do that to yourself,” Isak replies. Even ignores him and closes his eyes again, a tiny smile lingering on his face.

“I have a question,” Even says, shifting Isak gently off his chest and propping his head up in his hand. Isak copies him so they’re facing each other, lying nose to nose.

“What?”

“Can I walk you home?” Even asks, the corner of his mouth quirking. Isak snorts, collapsing forward and burying his face in Even’s pillow.

“Oh, god,” he groans, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Eva and Vilde are going to be so annoying.”

When he lifts his head, Even is watching him, unconcerned. He lifts a hand to stroke down Isak’s jaw, and Isak turns into it, smiling.

“I kind of lost it a little, when you were gone,” Isak mutters under Even’s fingers as they come forward to brush against his mouth.

“Oh, really?” Even murmurs, running his thumb across Isak’s bottom lip. Isak rolls his eyes and bites at his knuckle. “At least I’m not the only one.”

“I was shitty to Vilde,” Isak admits.

“I was shitty to Mikael,” Even counters.

“I fucked up your door.”

“I ruined a whole set of dailies.”

“I almost slept with someone else.”

Even raises his eyebrows.

“I didn’t,” Isak assures him, shuffling forward press a kiss to his cheek. “I couldn’t.”

“Well, I could,” Even says. Isak rolls his eyes and pinches at Even’s chest until he’s lying on his back, curled up in peals of laughter.

“Okay, you win!” he shouts in surrender. He pulls Isak down for another kiss, his hand cupping the back of Isak’s neck.

“But seriously,” Isak says, folding his arms across Even’s chest and resting his chin on them, “can you smuggle me back into my apartment?”

They don’t actually get out of bed for another hour, Isak getting distracted when Even starts to kiss him again, apparently content with not moving for the rest of the day. Eventually they manage to get up and put on clothes, Isak catching the shirt and pants that Even throws toward him. He tries not to look overly pleased about wearing Even’s clothes, but then he notices Even staring after he pulls on his shirt, and realizes maybe he’s not the only one.

“Isak,” Even says, leaning against the wall next to Isak’s door as Isak digs through the pile of yesterday’s clothes for his keys, “are we sneaking back in because you’re _embarrassed_ of me?”

“No,” Isak replies, even though he’s well aware that Even is joking. “I’m just kind of scared that Eva might punch me in the face when she finds out she put up with all my bullshit for nothing.”

Even laughs loudly, stopping when Isak glares at him as he cracks open his front door. When he peers inside, all the lights are off, and everything is quiet and still.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I think it’s safe.”

Even crowds up against his back, hugging him around the waist as he forces him inside.

“Eva?” he calls, holding tightly onto Isak when he squirms and tries to break away. “Are you home? I found this outside, I think it belongs to you!”

“Why do you keep returning me to people like I’m a lost dog?”

“Are you not?” Even asks, walking them both forward after he shuts the door behind him.

“If anything _you’re_ the person I’ll have to be returned to, now.”

Even hums, leaning forward to bite at Isak’s jaw. “I don’t mind,” he says, his hand slipping up under the front of Isak’s shirt.

“How altruistic of you,” Isak says, putting a hand over Even’s when he lays it flat across Isak’s stomach. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Mmhm,” Even replies happily, shoving Isak up against his kitchen counter. Isak meets his eyes, and for a moment all humor seems to vanish. He hadn’t meant it as a serious question, but the promise in Even’s expression reassures him, and he wonders if maybe Even somehow sensed his concern before he, himself did. When Even leans forward to kiss him, Isak meets him halfway, and the promise is there on Even’s lips, too.

Then, Even’s hands sneak down to grab his ass, and the moment is gone. Isak stands on his toes and presses his weight up against Even, bringing his arms up around Even’s neck and digging his fingers into his hair. Even leans back, pulling Isak’s weight up against him as he slides both his hands down to the back of Isak’s thighs.

He attempts to lift Isak up onto the counter, stumbling and reaching forward to catch himself. The second time, Isak helps him by grabbing onto his shoulders, laughing as he hops backwards.

“Who’s clumsy now?” he asks as Even steps between his legs. Even opens his mouth to protest, but Isak silences him with a kiss before he gets a chance, locking his ankles around Even’s hips. It’s just as Even’s hands find their way back into Isak’s shirt that the sound of the front door slamming breaks them apart. Isak swears against Even’s lips, both of them turning their heads to try and peek around the corner.

“Eva?”

“Isak?” she calls from the living room.

“Shit,” he whispers, trying to push Even away. Even stays where he is, smirking up at Isak and holding onto his thighs.

“Fucking _move,_ asshole!” Isak whispers. Even laughs and doesn’t move.

“Isak, I was wonder- oh,” Eva blinks at them in surprise as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. Even smiles and waves hello, and Isak closes his eyes in defeat, letting his head fall with a thunk against the cabinet behind him.

“Hi, Even,” she says slowly. Isak can practically hear her grinning.

“What’s your question, Eva?” Isak sighs, annoyed with every single person in the room.

“We make food on that counter, you know, Isak,” she says, not even sounding a little upset.

“I’m aware. Your _question,_ Eva?”

“Am I witnessing before or after?”

“That isn’t your question!” Isak yells, opening his eyes to glare at her.

“Both,” Even replies, squeezing Isak’s thighs in what is probably meant to be a gesture of solidarity. Isak does not feel comforted. He feels annoyed and horny.

“I’m glad you worked out whatever was going on,” Eva says, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I really couldn’t take much more of Isak draping himself miserably across our couch.”

“Draping himself?” Even asks, his eyes bright.

“I _didn’t-”_

“He’s very theatrical.”

“You’re confusing me with Eskild,” Isak says, sliding his arms back up around Even’s neck.

“Eskild is level-headed and calm compared to you.”

Isak groans and sags forward until he’s nestled safely against Even’s collarbone.

“See? Theatrical.”

“Will you _leave us alone,”_ Isak whines, burrowing deeper into Even’s neck.

“You know the moment I’m leaving, I’m just going to call Vilde and tell her.”

“Fine, do it,” Isak says against Even’s skin. There’s a moment of silence, where Isak thinks maybe they’re finally free, before he hears the hurried footsteps of Eva running back into the kitchen.

“If you hurt him,” she says, pointing an accusing finger at Even, “I _will_ ruin your life.”

“Good to know,” Even replies calmly, running a hand down Isak’s back. “I won’t.”

“Cool,” she says, fleeing back towards her room.

“Was that so bad?” Even asks, bending to try and get a look at Isak’s face, still half hidden against his neck.

“Yes,” Isak says, tilting his head up for a kiss. Even obliges, bringing his hands up to either side of Isak’s face.

“You know,” Isak says, pulling away, “you told her this was both.”

“Both?”

“She asked if it was before or after, and you said it was both,” Isak accuses. “Now you have to follow through.”

“I guess I do.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you mean you haven’t _asked_ him?”

Sana glares at Isak over the top of her laptop. They’re sitting in their favorite study spot, a cafe just across the street from Isak’s apartment that makes very, very strong coffee. Between them, the aftermath of their cramming session is spread across the table, a combination of papers, textbooks, and empty mugs. 

“I forgot?” Isak replies, cradling his coffee protectively when Sana smacks him on the side of the head.

“It’s been three weeks, how have you not remembered _once?”_  

“Uh, easily?”

“Fine,” she sighs. “I have to do everything myself.” 

“Wait, what are you-”

Sana stands, her chair scraping against the floor as she closes her laptop shut with a decisive snap. She slides it into her bag along with her spare papers and marches towards the door without a word.

“Sana!? Where are you going?” Isak calls after her, scrambling to pick up his books and follow her out.

“Seriously, I can ask him,” he says, panting once he catches up with her, still trying to shove the zipper on his bag closed.

“I don’t think you will,” Sana says, darting across the street towards his apartment building. “And it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t invited.”

“What kind of boyfriend do you think I am!?”

“A mediocre one,” she replies. “Besides, Vilde will probably have a meltdown if she doesn’t get enough notice.”

“She knows he’s going!”

Sana snorts as they enter the stairwell to Isak’s building.

“I refuse to have a repeat of last month,” she says. “You were both unbearable.”

“I was fine,” Isak mutters to himself, falling behind Sana as she springs up the stairs. When he reaches the third floor landing, she’s already knocking on Even’s door. Isak wanders over, shamefully clutching his mostly empty coffee cup.

“Sana!” Even beams when he answers the door, his smile growing warm when he notices Isak pouting by the edge of the railing. “I haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Yeah, sure, missed you too-” she waves her hand impatiently, “Isak would like to know if you would be his date to Eva and Vilde’s wedding.”

“Oh, he would?” Even blinks over at Isak, who cringes into the dregs of his coffee. “Why doesn’t he ask me himself?” He’s still watching Isak, looking at him over the top of Sana’s shoulder in what Isak feels is an unfair amount of fondness.

“Because Isak is a fucking idiot,” Sana replies, folding her arms. Even raises his eyebrows first at her, and then towards Isak.

“Is this true?” he calls over.

Isak shrugs and nods.

“The problem is,” Even sighs, shaking his head, “I don’t really go out with idiots.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“I’ll try to educate him,” Sana interrupts Isak wearily.

Isak really hates that they get along so well. It feels ominous, like when a younger sibling and a boyfriend meet and realize how much power they collectively hold.

“Anything for love, I guess,” Isak mutters, crumpling his empty coffee cup in his hands. When he looks up, they’re both staring at him. “What?” 

“For what, now?” Sana asks. Isak freezes, his eyes meeting Even’s for a moment before he spins on his heel and bolts for the door to his own apartment, feeling his face turn what is probably a blinding, inhuman shade of red.

“Isak, do you love me?” Even shouts at him as Isak fumbles with his keys, cursing to himself. “Isak, _are you in love with me!?”_

Isak shoves his key in the lock and practically falls into his living room, slamming the door shut loudly behind him.

  

* * *

 

“You never let me give you an answer.”

It’s later that night, and Isak is lying sprawled out across Even’s couch, trying and failing to stay awake during a movie that seems to be about a girl who thinks she can just give someone a pen every time she wants to break up with them.

“Answer to what?” Isak asks, shifting so he’s lying on his back, his head pillowed on Even’s thighs.

“To what you said earlier, with Sana.”

Isak coughs, looking down at his knees.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“So you don’t want to hear what I have to say?” Even teases, jostling Isak’s head with his knee. Isak covers his face with his hand and cringes. “Well, Isak,” Even says grandly, “I _will_ be your date to Eva and Vilde’s wedding.”

Isak inhales too quickly, and is caught in a coughing fit as he lowers his hand to look at Even.

Who is, of course, laughing at him.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Isak replies, glaring up at him.

“I’d hate to leave you in suspense,” Even says, eyes shining.

“Yeah, that would really suck,” Isak replies, rolling back onto his side to face the TV.

“Hey, hey,” Even says, giggling as he grabs Isak by his shoulder and pulls him back around. “I love you.”

He’s serious when he says it, his fingers pushing back Isak’s hair from his forehead. Isak raises himself up onto his elbows and stretches up to kiss him, pulling Even down with a hand on the back of his neck.

“That’s nice,” Isak says, patting his cheek as he sinks back down onto Even’s legs.

“You’re not going to say it back?” Even asks, looking both outraged and amused. Isak shrugs, grinning. “You little-”

“Love you, too,” Isak interrupts.

“Yeah, you’d fucking better.”

 

* * *

 

One of the wonderful things Isak’s found about dating his neighbor, is that the walk home after he’s spent the night is blissfully, easily short. So short, in fact, that he and Even have gotten a little too comfortable with it, and developed a habit of leaving each other’s apartments wrapped only in a duvet. 

Isak just doesn’t see the point in getting dressed when he’s only walking ten meters down the hall.

That’s how he finds himself one morning, fumbling as he tries to balance holding the duvet closed against the cold air and getting the front door open at the same time. It’s still early, so he tries to be quiet about it, well aware that if Eva or Vilde catch him they’ll mock him for at least the next three days. He finally manages to turn the handle, slipping inside as gracefully as he can with the edge of Even’s blanket dragging on the ground.

When he looks up, Eva and Jonas are sitting at the kitchen table, watching him with matching grins.

“Shit.” Isak drops his face into the palm of his hand.

“Good to see you, too, man,” Jonas says, laughing.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until tonight,” Isak accuses, trying to look casual and confident about wearing nothing but a blanket in the middle of his living room. 

“Caught an earlier flight so I could help today,” Jonas replies, still smiling. Isak coughs and shifts the duvet to make sure it’s fully closed around him.

“So, how was Israel?” 

“I think the more important question is,” Jonas says, leaning back in his chair, “how was the sex?”

Isak groans and wanders over to the table, collapsing down in an empty seat. 

“I haven’t missed you at all,” he mutters, while Jonas and Eva both laugh loudly across from him. “If you really want to know, I slept for three hours and came twice.” He smiles in satisfaction when their laughter cuts off in surprise.

“Damn, man, way to share with the class.”

“You _asked.”_

“I guess I did.” Jonas blanches. “Seriously, though, I’m happy for you-”

“Eugh,” Isak winces.

“-and I want to meet him, but hopefully with everyone, like, wearing clothes.”

“Don’t worry, Jonas,” Eva says, “there’s not a single person in this room who would enjoy seeing you naked.” 

“Ouch,” Jonas replies, unbothered. Even though Isak would never admit it out loud, it’s good to have Jonas back, sitting in their tiny living room, more or less the same as the three of them have always been.

“Okay, enough not paying attention to me,” Eva says, leaning forward. “Guys, I’m getting _married tomorrow.”_  

“Weird,” Isak says, shaking his head. “I really didn’t think you’d be the first one out of all of us.”

“What, you thought it’d be _you?”_

“No,” Isak replies, scandalized. “I thought it’d be Jonas.”

“Wow, thanks, Isak,” Eva deadpans. “You have so much faith in me.”

“Well, look at us now,” Jonas says, “I’m the only single one.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even _want_ to get married.”

“Marriage is a construct,” Jonas replies lazily.

“Is that what you’re going to say in your speech tomorrow?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.” Jonas furrows his eyebrows, like he’s tempted to change his mind. “You know-”

 _“No,”_ Isak and Eva both interject.

“My wedding is no place for your politics.”

“Says who?”

“Uh, _me?”_

“I’m seconding that,” Isak says, raising his hand from where it was clamping shut the edges of Even’s blanket.

“Your loss,” Jonas sighs, just as Eva’s phone pings by her elbow. A moment later, a very distant ping sounds from Isak’s room.

“Vilde’s wondering where we are,” Eva says, squinting at her screen. “We’d better go before she starts to panic.” 

“Can I please take a shower first?” Isak asks, very aware of the fact that the remains of last night are still clinging to him uncomfortably.

“No,” Jonas says, beaming, “you have to go like that.”

“It’s what you deserve,” Eva adds.

Isak kicks his chair aside and bolts for the shower before either of them can stop him.

 

* * *

  ****

Setting up the wedding isn’t as completely awful as Isak expected it to be.

For one, Jonas is there, which turns everything into a sort of fun, dumb joke between them instead of actual work. Then, there’s the unexpected presence of Eskild, who has apparently appointed himself as Vilde’s personal assistant.

When Isak asks him about it, all Eskild does is sweep past them with a bundle of string lights in his arms, saying “she needs my vision.”

“I didn’t know Vilde had bad eyesight,” Jonas mutters to Isak, who has to hide his face in the bucket of hydrangeas he’s carrying, so Eskild can’t see him laughing.

“Are we supposed to wash these?” Isak asks when he emerges, tilting the, frankly, enormous heap of flowers he’s been given.

“I don’t know,” Jonas replies, looking around the room for help. “Do you wash flowers?”

“Eva!” Isak calls, spotting her walking quickly into the kitchen. “Do we need to clean these?”

Eva glances down at the flowers in their arms and shrugs.

“Okay, then we won’t,” Jonas says, dropping his bucket with a thud.

“She has no idea what she’s doing,” Isak replies, smiling as he watches Eva disappear into the kitchen, then run back out again a few seconds later. He drops his bucket next to Jonas’, trying to handle it with a little more care.

“Neither do I.” Jonas sinks onto the floor next to the flowers and picks up one of the giant vases they’ve been tasked with filling, peering into it warily. “Why did they ask _us_ to do the flowers?”

“Because it was either this or the real, important shit.” Isak sits down across from him and grabs a handful of weird little white, fluffy things, stuffing them into his vase. Jonas tilts his head at them, then looks up at Isak for guidance.

“I don’t know,” Isak says. “Just grab shit. They’re flowers, they’ll look good no matter what.”

Jonas nods and throws a handful of roses into his vase.

“Why isn’t Even here?” he asks, gathering a bundle of strange flowers that look like tiny fireworks. 

“He has work.”

“Film intern?” Jonas asks, uncertain. Isak nods and bites his cheek against a smile. “Ha, look at you, I can’t believe it.” 

“What?”

“You miss him, don’t you? You just had sex with him _this morning_ and you already miss him-” 

“I don’t,” Isak protests, but it’s half-hearted. The fact is, he was sort of thinking that Even’s flower arrangements would probably be a bizarre, stunning thing to behold. 

“Sure, bro,” Jonas says. 

“You know,” says a voice from behind him, “I think maybe giving you boys the flowers was a mistake.”

“We’re full of disappointments,” Isak says, turning to see Sana and Noora standing behind him, holding two cups of coffee each. “Is any of that for us?” 

“They’re from your boyfriend,” Sana says, handing him a cup. “He bought us an entire carload of coffee.”

Isak cranes his head hopefully towards the hall that leads to the front of the church. 

“He couldn’t stay,” Sana tells him, bending to fix some of his flowers. “He was just on his break.”

Isak groans and flops back to stare at the ceiling.

“He also told us to kiss you deeply,” Noora says, handing Jonas the other cup she’s holding. “Which we will not be doing.”

Isak sighs. 

“I read your article morning,” Jonas says to Noora, leaning back on his hands. “Did you know it has two thousand retweets?” 

“It does,” she agrees, looking down at him. 

“It was good,” Jonas continues, “but you left out the effect on the country’s budget long-term-” 

“You mean what yours was about?” she asks, folding her arms. “What did you get, twenty retweets?”

“It’s at fifty now,” Jonas says, smiling up at her.

Isak tunes them out, turning the cup he’s holding on his stomach absentmindedly. On the back, there’s a small heart drawn in black sharpie. Isak smiles down at the drawing as the sound of Jonas and Noora’s voices rise steadily in the empty ballroom, a decision clicking firmly into place in his head.

 

* * *

 

Isak tries not to stare at Even during the wedding. He does, he tries, but he thinks maybe he was doomed from the moment Even insisted that they both get ready separately, like they’re on a real, official date.  

If he’d seen Even that morning, and if they’d gotten dressed together, maybe it would’ve broken up the illusion for him a little. But unfortunately, when he’d gone over to Even’s apartment to pick him up, Even was already fully, absurdly beautiful.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could think to say when Even opened the door. Even just tilted his head and regarded Isak with a warm, satisfied look on his face.

That was over four hours ago, and Isak still can’t stop looking at him.

“You know, dude,” Jonas says, running forward and grabbing his shoulder as they make their way into the reception hall, “there was a _kind of_ important ceremony going on you were supposed to be watching.” 

“I did watch it,” Isak argues, loosening his tie.

Jonas snorts. “Sure, maybe for like-” 

“Boys!” Noora calls over the crowd of people filing into the next room. “We’re doing pictures.”

“No,” Isak groans, slouching in defeat. He’s fucking starving, and he just wants to sit down after having to stand awkwardly next to Jonas for what felt like five hours, while a whole crowd of people stared at him. Realistically, he knows they were probably staring at Eva and Vilde. But it still felt a lot like he was being put on display. 

“Let’s just get it over with,” Jonas says, pulling him outside by his lapel. 

“Get me a beer!” Isak shouts towards Even, who is standing halfway down the room, waiting for them. Even salutes him and turns towards the bar.

“Beer,” Jonas says to himself wistfully.

Pictures, thankfully, don’t take them too long, but they do get held up by everyone constantly stepping on the trains of either Vilde or Eva’s dresses. Noora, Chris, and Sana run around them, having to artfully drape the ends every time they change positions. Isak and Jonas stand to the side, watching them like they’re afraid if they touch any piece of fabric, it’ll burst into flames.

After about thirty minutes, the girls start taking pictures of themselves doing stupid poses, and Isak thinks it’s probably safe to sneak back inside.

“Christ,” he sighs, slumping down into the empty chair next to Even.

“That last picture you did was cute,” Even says, shoving a beer in front of him. “When you and Jonas kissed Eva’s cheeks.”

“It was her idea,” Isak snorts. He picks up his beer, and finds it’s suspiciously light.

“Someone just walked by and grabbed it,” Even says airily. “They drank half of it before I could stop them, I don’t know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Have I mentioned you look very handsome?” Even smiles winningly, propping his elbow on the table and leaning onto his hand. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Isak mutters, trying not to glance around to see if someone is listening to them.

“Are you going to dance with me later?”

Isak cringes.

“That depends on the song.”

“A slow song,” Even replies confidently.

Isak groans. “I’m not good at slow dancing.”

“I think you just don’t want to.”

Isak raises his eyebrows, sensing a challenge.

“We’ll see,” he says, setting down his beer. 

Isak probably should have predicted that, knowing his friends, the reception would get a little wild. The night started normal enough, when all the parents and grandparents and out of town relatives were still around, politely making small talk in between what seemed to be no less than twenty million speeches, all which Jonas somehow managed to gracefully conduct as toastmaster.

But then the weak start dropping off one by one, the crowd growing thinner and the music getting louder until Isak suddenly finds himself in the middle of the dance floor, with what he thinks might be his sixth drink. He’s come to terms with it. He’s fine as long as they don’t play any slow songs.

As if it can read his mind, the music changes.

“You promised!” Even shouts, pulling him in by his wrist.

“I said _maybe,”_ Isak yells back. They both lost their jackets a long time ago, and somehow Isak’s tie found its way to Noora’s neck, suiting her better than it ever did him. Even just raises his eyebrows at Isak, still pulling him forward until Isak is chest to chest with him. Isak sighs and puts his hands on Even’s shoulders. “You can’t complain when I step on your feet.”

“I’ll bear the pain,” Even says, smiling as he pulls him into a sway.

Jonas and Noora pass by them, doing what looks like a combination of the waltz and the electric slide.

“I can't believe you got him to dance!” Jonas yells over to Even.

“You made it sound like it was going to be hard,” Even shouts back, grinning.

“I guess I owe you thirty kroner,” Jonas replies, attempting to dip Noora but instead just butting their heads together.

 _“Ow.”_ Noora rubs at her forehead, glaring.

“Sorry,” he smirks at her, not looking all too concerned. “Do you feel dizzy? Woozy? Like you won't be able to complete any work related tasks?”

Noora blinks and furrows her eyebrows. “I feel… annoyed.”

“Damn,” Jonas replies, beaming.

As they waltz away, Jonas starts to sing along very loudly to the music. Noora squeezes her eyes shut and looks like she’s in physical pain.

“I guess you’ve met Jonas,” Isak says.

“A very nice guy,” Even smiles. “I can see why he’s your friend.”

“Not for much longer,” Isak mutters. Even laughs and pulls him closer, kissing the side of his head.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Even whispers once the song ends, holding Isak at the small of his back. Isak laughs in surprise and pulls back to look up at him.

“What, seriously?”

“Maybe not _leave_ just-”

“Are you asking me to make out with you in a closet somewhere?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds-”

Isak shakes his head and grabs Even by the hand, yanking him off the dance floor and towards the back of the hall. Even laughs gleefully and trips after him.

Isak pulls him into a side hall, Even pressing himself up against his back once the door closes behind them. They stumble past Chris and Eskild lingering just inside the doorway, laughing together with red faces as they pass a flask between themselves.

“Happy fucking!” Eskild calls after them, snickering as he slides down the wall and onto the floor.

“Go to hell, Eskild!” Isak shouts back cheerfully. As they find a promising looking door a little way down the hall, Isak hears Chris burst out laughing while Eskild whines indistinctly from the ground.

Isak shoves the door open, tripping forward with Even clinging onto his back. They’re halfway through the doorway when Isak freezes, spotting Eva and Vilde, still in their dresses, sitting on a table with what looks like half a tier of wedding cake between them.

“Hi,” Eva says, spearing a piece of cake with her fork. 

“Uh, hi,” Isak replies, while Even laughs helplessly into his shoulder.

“We didn’t get to eat dinner,” Vilde explains, swinging her feet. “We’re starving.”

“Try two doors down,” Eva says, jerking her head to the left.

“Cool,” Isak replies, nodding and trying to discreetly back out of the room. He smacks Even’s thigh frantically until he gets the hint and stumbles backwards. “We’re just gonna…”

They fall back into the hallway together, slamming the door closed and dissolving into giggles, hanging onto each other for support.

“Okay,” Even says, clearing his throat. “Two doors down, _gogogo.”_

They race down the hall, Even passing him with a light tap to his ass, then sliding to a stop when he reaches the right door. He cracks it open, peeking in suspiciously.

“Coast is clear,” he whispers.

“I hate you,” Isak says, letting Even grab him at the waist and pull him inside. He gets just enough time to register that they’re in some kind of office before Even shoves him up against the wall and kisses him.

“You don’t hate me,” Even says, his lips brushing up against Isak’s, “you love me, you told me so.”

Isak doesn’t respond, just pulls Even back down with a hand against his jaw. The decision he’d come to yesterday jumps back into his head, determined, and it remains even as Even pushes their bodies flush together.

“Hey,” he says, pushing Even away, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Even raises his eyebrows, dipping down to kiss him quickly one more time.

“Well,” Isak starts, clearing his throat, “the thing is, Eva’s moving out once our lease is up.”

Even watches him, looking like he’s trying hard to be polite and listen and not just press Isak back up against the wall.

“And I’ll be left with no roommate,” Isak continues, when it’s clear Even doesn’t see where he’s going.

Even narrows his eyes, a small smile forming. Isak waits for him to respond, but he stays quiet, watching Isak warmly. 

Isak sighs. “The problem is, I can’t really afford rent on my own.”

Even hums thoughtfully. “That _is_ a problem,” he says.

“I guess I have to find a new roommate,” Isak says, glaring.

“I guess you do,” Even agrees.

“Will you fucking give me an answer?” Isak snaps, shaking Even by his shoulders. Even laughs and grabs him by his forearms, leaning forward and pressing tiny, quick kisses to the side of his face.

“Not until you ask the question,” Even says, warm against his skin.

Isak rolls his eyes, leaning his head back as Even moves his way down his jaw. He stops Even with a hand against his cheek, turning him to look up.

“Will you move in with me?” 

Even smiles, and kisses him full on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this fic! As promised, [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/spikettes/playlist/1r0eyLxsZz35ZtrYTeIz4F?si=TvwwPRaxT5epRSrokJjBcg) is my playlist for it, made up of songs that either helped inspire it or songs that I just felt suited it.
> 
> And for anyone who would like to know, here is a comprehensive list of films mentioned/quoted/etc by Even in the fic, in order of appearance: Mary Poppins, Some Like It Hot, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Groundhog Day, The Wizard of Oz, Amélie, Say Anything
> 
> And Isak’s: Final Destination


End file.
